LIBRARY OF THK UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Class THE POEMS OF RICHARD WATSON GILDER THE POEMS OF RICHARD WATSON GILDER OF THE f UNIVERSITY ) OF BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ftjtcrs iDe press CamfanDoe 1908 COPYRIGHT 1875, 1878, I8SO, 1885, 1887, 89I, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898, 1900, 1901, 1905, 1907, 1908, BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published October iqo8 CONTENTS THE NEW DAY PRELUDE 3 PART I I SONNET 4 II SONNET 4 III "A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS TO THE SALT SEA S GRAY" 5 IV HESITATION. (A Portrait) 5 V LOVE GROWN BOLD . 6 INTERLUDE . . 6 PART II I WORDS WITHOUT SONG * . 7 II THE TRAVELER . * . 7 III "COME TO ME YE WHO SUFFER" 8 IV WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF SHAKESPEARE S SONNETS" 9 V "AND WERE THAT BEST 1 ." 9 VI "THERE is NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN" . . 10 VII LOVE S CRUELTY n INTERLUDE u PART III I "THE PALLID WATCHER OF THE EASTERN SKIES " 12 II "MY LOVE FOR THEE DOTH MARCH LIKE ARMED MEN" 12 III "WHAT WOULD I SAVE THEE FROM?" .... 13 IV "WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO?" 13 V "I WILL BE BRAVE FOR THEE" 14 VI " LOVE ME NOT, LOVE, FOR THAT I FIRST LOVED THEE" 14 176724 VI CONTENTS VII BODY AND SOUL : I "O THOU MY LOVE, LOVE FIRST MY LONELY SOUL!" 15 II "BUT, LOVE, FORME THY BODY WAS THE FIRST" 15 VIII "THY LOVER, LOVE, WOULD HAVE SOME NOBLER WAY" 16 IX LOVE S JEALOUSY 16 X LOVE S MONOTONE 17 XI "ONCE ONLY" 17 XII DENIAL . 18 XIII "ONCE WHEN WE WALKED WITHIN A SUM MER FIELD" 18 XIV SONG: "I LOVE HER GENTLE FOREHEAD". 19 XV LISTENING TO Music 19 XVI "A SONG OF THE MAIDEN MORN" . . . . 2O XVII WORDS IN ABSENCE 20 XVIII SONG: "THE BIRDS WERE SINGING" ... 21 XIX THISTLE -DOWN 21 XX " O SWEET WILD ROSES THAT BUD AND BLOW ! " 22 XXI THE RIVER 22 XXII THE LOVER S LORD AND MASTER .... 23 XXIII SONG: "MY LOVE GREW" 23 XXIV "ANIGHT OF STARS AND DREAMS" ... 24 XXV A BIRTHDAY SONG 24 XXVI "WHAT CAN LOVE DO FOR THEE, LOVE?" . 25 XXVII "THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE" 25 XXVIII FRANCESCA AND PAOLO 26 XXIX THE UNKNOWN WAY 26 XXX THE SOWER 27 XXXI "WHEN THE LAST DOUBT is DOUBTED" . . 28 INTERLUDE . . 29 PART IV I SONG: " LOVE, LOVE, MY LOVE" 30 II THE MIRROR 30 III LIKENESS IN UNLIKENESS 30 IV SONG : " NOT FROM THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD " 31 V ALL IN ONE 31 CONTENTS Vli VI "I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I MEET THEE " 32 VII SONG: "YEARS HAVE FLOWN" 32 VIII THE SEASONS 32 IX "SUMMER S RAIN AND WINTER S SNOW" . . . 33 X THE VIOLIN 33 XI "O MIGHTY RIVER, TRIUMPHING TO THE SEA" . 34 XII "MY SONGS ARE ALL OF THEE" . . . . . 35 XIII AFTER MANY DAYS 35 XIV WEAL AND WOE 36 XV "O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD" . . . . 36 XVI "LOVE IS NOT BOND TO ANY MAN" .... 37 XVII "HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF DUTY" ... 37 AFTER-SONG 38 THE CELESTIAL PASSION PRELUDE 41 PART I ART AND LIFE 41 THE POET AND HIS MASTER 43 MORS TRIUMPHALIS . 45 THE MASTER-POETS 49 PART II A CHRISTMAS HYMN 49 EASTER 50 A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LIPPI . . .... . . 52 COST 52 THE SONG OF A HEATHEN (sojourning in Galilee, A. D. 32) 53 HOLY LAND .. . . . 53 ON A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS 54 "DESPISE NOT THOU" 54 "TO REST FROM WEARY WORK" . . . 55 PART III RECOGNITION 55 HYMN SUNG AT THE PRESENTATION OF THE OBELISK TO THE CITY OF NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 22, 1 88 1 ... 57 Vlll CONTENTS A THOUGHT * . . 58 THE VOICE OF THE PINE , . 59 MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT 60 "DAY UNTO DAY UTTERETH SPEECH" 6l PART IV THE SOUL 61 "WHEN LOVE DAWNED " ....... 62 LOVE AND DEATH : I "NOW WHO CAN TAKE FROM US WHAT WE HAVE KNOWN" -. 62 II "WE KNOW NOT WHERE THEY TARRY WHO HAVE DIED" ........ . ..... 63 FATHER AND CHILD . . * . 63 "BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE" ..... 64 AN AUTUMN MEDITATION 64 "CALL ME NOT DEAD" 66 "EACH MOMENT HOLY IS" 66 "WHEN TO SLEEP I MUST" 66 To A DEPARTED FRIEND. (J. G. H.) ...... 67 "THE EVENING STAR" 67 LIFE: i " GREAT UNIVERSE WHAT DOST THOU WITH THY DEAD!" 68 II "AH, THOU WILT NEVER ANSWER TO OUR CALL" . 68 THE FREED SPIRIT ...-.-. 69 UNDYING LIGHT: i "WHEN IN THE GOLDEN WESTERN SUMMER SKIES " 69 ii "O THOU THE LORD AND MAKER OF LIFE AND LIGHT!" 70 LYRICS PART I ODE 73 A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER 75 A MIDSUMMER SONG 76 "ON THE WILD ROSE TREE" 77 "BEYOND ALL BEAUTY is THE UNKNOWN GRACE" ... 78 THE VIOLET 78 CONTENTS ix THE YOUNG POET 80 A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN 81 THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY "A WORD SAID IN THE DARK" 87 A RIDDLE OF LOVERS 87 THE DARK ROOM. (A Parable) 88 BEFORE SUNRISE 89 "THE WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR" ... 89 SUNSET FROM THE TRAIN . 90 "AFTER SORROW S NIGHT" ...,.,.... 91 A NOVEMBER CHILD . . . 92 AT NIGHT ! ... 92 CRADLE SONG 93 "NINE YEARS" 93 "BACK FROM THE DARKNESS TO THE LIGHT AGAIN" . . 94 PART II FATE 94 "WE MET UPON THE CROWDED WAY" 96 THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE 96 A WOMAN S THOUGHT 98 THE RIVER INN 99 THE HOMESTEAD 100 AT FOUR SCORE 101 JOHN CARMAN 103 DRINKING SONG 106 THE VOYAGER . . . 106 A LAMENT FOR THE DEAD OF THE JEANNETTE BROUGHT HOME ON THE FRISIA 107 ILL TIDINGS. (The Studio Concert) no A NEW WORLD no PART III CONGRESS: 1878 in THE CITY 112 REFORM ...... 112 AT GARFIELD S GRAVE. (September, 1881) . . . .113 MEMORIAL DAY 114 THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH 114 X CONTENTS THE BURIAL OF GRANT. (New York, August 8, 1885) . 115 THE DEAD COMRADE. (At the burial of Grant, a bugler stood forth and sounded "taps") 116 ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN . . . .117 THE PRESIDENT. (Written during the first administration of President Cleveland) 118 PART IV ESSIPOFF 118 ADELE AUS DER OHE 119 VsMODJESKA 120 THE DRAMA. (Supposed to be from the Polish) . . . .120 FOR AN ALBUM. (To be read one hundred years after) . . 122 PORTO FINO. . 123 IMPROMPTUS : I To F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER 124 ii ART 125 in To A SOUTHERN GIRL 125 iv FOR A FAN 125 v To T. B. A. (In acknowledgment of a book of prose) 125 vi A THEME 126 vii THE CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE NURSERY. (For F. and R.) 126 PART V Music AND WORDS 128 THE POET S FAME 129 THE POET S PROTEST 131 To A YOUNG POET 132 "WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES" 132 YOUTH AND AGE 133 THE SONNET 134 A SONNET OF DANTE. "Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare" . 134 THE NEW TROUBADOURS. (Avignon, 1879) .... 135 KEATS 135 AN INSCRIPTION IN ROME. (Piazza di Spagna) . . .136 DESECRATION 136 "JOCOSERIA" 137 CONTENTS xi To AN ENGLISH FRIEND, WITH EMERSON S "POEMS" . 138 OUR ELDER POETS. (1878) 139 LONGFELLOW S "BOOK OF SONNETS" 140 "H. H." 140 THE MODERN RHYMER 141 TWO WORLDS AND OTHER POEMS PART I Two WORLDS i THE VENUS OF MILO 145 ii MICHAEL ANGELO S SLAVE . . . . % . . .145 PART II THE STAR IN THE CITY 145 MOONLIGHT 146 "I CARE NOT IF THE SKIES ARE WHITE" 147 CONTRASTS 148 SERENADE. (For Music) 148 LARGESS 149 INDOORS, AT NIGHT 149 THE ABSENT LOVER 150 "TO -NIGHT THE MUSIC DOTH A BURDEN BEAR" . . .150 SANCTUM SANCTORUM 150 THE GIFT 151 "An, TIME, GO NOT so SOON" 153 "THE YEARS ARE ANGELS " 1 53 "IN HER YOUNG EYES" 153 "YESTERDAY, WHEN WE WERE FRIENDS" 153 A NIGHT SONG. (For the Guitar) 154 LEO 154 PART III BROTHERS 155 LOVE, ART, AND TIME. (On a picture entitled "The Portrait," by Will H. Low) 156 THE DANCERS. (On a picture entitled "Summer," by T. W. Dewing) i5 6 THE TWENTY -THIRD OF APRIL 157 EMMA LAZARUS *57 THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER. (Robert Browning) . .158 Xll CONTENTS PART IV SHERIDAN 158 SHERMAN 160 /^RO PATRIA. (In memory of a faithful chaplain : the Rev. V William Henry Gilder) 161 To THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. (Reunion at Get tysburg twenty-five years after the battle) . . . . .163 FAILURE AND SUCCESS. (G. C., 1888) 163 J. R. L. : ON HIS BIRTHDAY 164 NAPOLEON ... 164 THE WHITE CZAR S PEOPLE 164 CHARLESTON: 1886 167 PART V HIDE NOT THY HEART ......... * . 168 "THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW" 169 "WHITE, PILLARED NECK" 170 "GREAT NATURE is AN ARMY GAY" . . ... . .170 "LIFE IS THE COST " 171 THE PRISONER S THOUGHT 172 THE CONDEMNED . . . .-. . . . . , . . . .173 "Sow THOU SORROW" 174 TEMPTATION 174 A MIDSUMMER MEDITATION 174 "AS DOTH THE BIRD" 175 VISIONS : i "CAST INTO THE PIT" 175 ii "CAME TO HIM ONCE" 176 m "WITH FULL-TONED BEAT" 176 WITH A CROSS OF IMMORTELLES 176 THE PASSING OF CHRIST 177 CREDO 180 NON SINE DOLORE ... 181 PART VI ODE. (Read before the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard University, June 26, 1890) . 185 AFTER-SONG: To ROSAMOND 189 CONTENTS Xlll THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE PART I THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE. (Read at the Annual Re union of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, Faneuil Hall, Boston, June 27, 1893) . . . . . . * . .193 PART II "THE WHITE CITY." (The Columbian Exposition) . . 201 THE VANISHING CITY 202 THE TOWER OF FLAME. (The Columbian Exposition, July 10, 1893) 204 LOWELL ,.-.... . .205 THE SILENCE OF TENNYSON 206 ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN. (Phillips Brooks) 207 A HERO OF PEACE. (In memory of Robert Ross: shot March 6, 1894) 207 WASHINGTON AT TRENTON. (The Battle Monument, October 19, 1893) 208 FAME 209 A MONUMENT BY SAINT -GAUDENS ........ 209 A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN 210 JJ2ADEREWSKI . . 2IO HANDEL S LARGO 211 THE STAIRWAY 212 THE ACTOR 212 THE STRICKEN PLAYER. (Edwin Booth) 212 AN AUTUMN DIRGE, (E. F. H.) 213 ELEONORA DUSE 215 KELP ROCK. (E. C. S.) 215 AT NIAGARA 215 THE CHILD-GARDEN . 216 THE CHRIST-CHILD. (A picture by Frank Vincent Du Mond) 217 A CHILD 218 Two VALLEYS 218 ON THE BAY 219 WASHINGTON SQUARE 219 THE CITY 220 XIV CONTENTS A RHYME OF TYRINGHAM. (In the Berkshire Mountains) 221 ELSIE 222 INDIRECTION 223 "An, BE NOT FALSE" 223 THE ANSWER 224 How DEATH MAY MAKE A MAN 224 "CAME TO A MASTER OF SONG" 225 BARDS 226 MERIDIAN . . . . 227 EVENING IN TYRINGHAM VALLEY 228 PART III A WEEK S CALENDAR: i NEW YEAR ............. 228 ii A NEW SOUL ; 229 HI "KEEP PURE THY SOUL" 229 IV "THY MIND IS LIKE A CRYSTAL BROOK". . . 229 V "ONE DEED MAY MAR A LIFE" 230 vi THE UNKNOWN 230 vii IRREVOCABLE 230 PART IV SONGS: "BECAUSE THE ROSE MUST FADE" 231 "FADES THE ROSE" 232 THE WINTRY HEART 232 HAST THOU HEARD THE NIGHTINGALE? 233 "IN THAT DREAD, DREAMED-OF HOUR" 233 " ROSE-DARK THE SOLEMN SUNSET" 234 "WINDS TO THE SILENT MORN" 234 THE UNRETURNING 235 Two YEARS 235 IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS PART I IN. PALESTINE 239 THE ANGER OF CHRIST 242 THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM 243 CONTENTS XV NOEL 244 "THE SUPPER AT EMMAUS." (A picture by Rembrandt) . 244 THE DOUBTER 245 THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT 245 THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE 246 KARNAK 247 "ANGELO, THOU ART THE MASTER" 249 A WINTER TWILIGHT IN PROVENCE . .250 PART II "THE POET S DAY" 253 "HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG?" .... 253 "LIKE THE BRIGHT PICTURE" 254 REMEMBRANCE OF BEAUTY 254 Music IN SOLITUDE 255 "A POWER THERE IS" 256 THE SONG S ANSWER . .257 THE CELLO 257 THE VALLEY ROAD 258 HAWTHORNE IN BERKSHIRE 259 LATE SUMMER 260 AN HOUR IN A STUDIO. (F. L ) 260 ILLUSION 261 A SONG OF THE ROAD 261 "NoT HERE" . 262 " No, NO, SHE SAID" 262 A SOUL LOST, AND FOUND 263 "THIS HOUR MY HEART WENT FORTH, AS IN OLD DAYS" 264 "EVEN WHEN JOY is NEAR" 265 RESURRECTION 266 "AS SOARS THE EAGLE" 266 PART III ROBERT GOULD SHAW. (The monument by Augustus Saint-Gaudens) 267 "THE NORTH STAR DRAWS THE HERO." (To H. N. G.) 268 GLAVE 269 OF HENRY GEORGE. (Who died fighting against political tyranny and corruption, New York, 1897) .... 269 XVI CONTENTS SCORN 269 THE HEROIC AGE. (Athens, 1896) 270 THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT. (In memory of Joe Evans) . 271 "THROUGH ALL THE CUNNING AGES" 272 ONE COUNTRY ONE SACRIFICE. (Ensign Worth Bag- ley, May n, 1898) 273 "WHEN WITH THEIR COUNTRY S ANGER" 273 A VISION 274 THE WORD OF THE WHITE CZAR 275 PART IV A SONG FOR DOROTHEA, ACROSS THE SEA 277 A BLIND POET , , 278 ON A WOMAN SEEN UPON THE STAGE. ("Tess," as played by Mrs. Fiske) 278 Of ONE WHO NEITHER SEES NOR HEARS. (Helen Keller) 278 FOR THE ESPOUSALS OF JEANNE ROUMANILLE, OF AVIGNON 279 To MARIE JOSEPHINE GIRARD, QUEEN OF THE FELIBRES, ON HER WEDDING-DAY 280 INSCRIPTION FOR A TOWER IN FLORENCE. (Written for the Chatelaine) , 280 WITH A VOLUME OF DANTE . . . , 281 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS AUTUMN AT FOUR -BROOKS FARM 285 INDOORS IN EARLY SPRING 285 THE NIGHT PASTURE 286 A LETTER FROM THE FARM 288 SUMMER BEGINS 291 "STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY" 291 STRATFORD BELLS 292 IN WORDSWORTH S ORCHARD. (Dove Cottage). . . . 293 SIR WALTER SCOTT 293 A DAY IN TUSCANY 295 A SACRED COMEDY IN FLORENCE. (In which takes part a certain statue on the facade of the Duomo) . . . 296 MICHAEL ANGELO S AURORA. (The Medici Chapel, Florence) 297 THE OLD MASTER 297 CONTENTS XV11 AT LUTHER S GRAVE. (Wittenberg) 298 BEETHOVEN. (Vienna) 298 THE DESERT 299 EGYPT 299 SYRIA 3 THE DEAD POET. (A. H.) 300 WAR 301 THE BLAMELESS KNIGHT 302 THE DEMAGOGUE * .... 303 THE TOOL 33 THE NEW POLITICIAN 304 A LADY TO A KNIGHT 305 "IS HOPE A PHANTOM?" 305 SONG: "!F LEST THY HEART BETRAY THEE "...*. 305 MEMORY 306 "O GLORIOUS SABBATH SUN" . . . , 307 MOTTO FOR A TREE-PLANTING 307 JANET 37 ON BEING ASKED FOR A SONG CONCERNING THE DEDICA TION OF A MOUNTAIN IN SAMOA TO THE MEMORY OF STEVENSON. (A letter to I. O. S.) ....... 308 To AUSTIN DOBSON 309 To L. R. S 39 A NAME 3 10 JOHN GEORGE NICOLAY. (Washington, D. C, Septem ber, 1901) 310 THE COMFORT OF THE TREES. (McKinley: September, 1901) 3 10 THE CITY OF LIGHT. (The Pan-American Exposition) 311 INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION AT BUFFALO, 1901 FOR THE PROPYL^EA ..... 315 FOR THE STADIUM 315 FOR THE GREAT PYLONS OF THE TRIUMPHAL CAUSE WAY . . . 3 l6 DEDICATORY INSCRIPTIONS 3*8 "IN THE RIGHTS" "!N THE HIGHTS." (John R. Procter) 323 HOME ACRES 3 2 4 XV111 CONTENTS A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 325 SPRING SURPRISE 327 AUTUMN TREES 327 "THE LIGHT LIES ON THE FARTHER HILLS " . . . .327 "AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND" 328 Music IN DARKNESS. (Adele aus der Ohe) . . . .328 THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN 330 MOTHER AND CHILD 330 ALICE FREEMAN PALMER 331 "MOTHER OF HEROES." (Sarah Blake Shaw) . . . 331 THE GREAT CITIZEN. (Abram Stevens Hewitt) . . .332 ON READING OF A POET S DEATH. (Carlyle McKinley) 332 JOHN HENRY BONER 333 "A WONDROUS SONG" 333 A NEW POET 334 THE SINGER OF JOY 335 BREAD UPON THE WATERS 335 LOST 336 "WHAT MAN HATH DONE" 336 "HE PONDERED WELL" 337 "THOU THINKEST THOU HAST LIVED" 338 THE GOOD MAN 338 "SO FIERCE THE BUFFETS " 339 Two HEROES 339 THE WORLD S END 340 SHELLEY S "OZYMANDIAS" 340 LA SALLE. 1 (Explorer of the Mississippi) 341 INAUGURATION DAY 341 THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT. (At Washington, D. C.) 342 BUILDERS OF THE STATE 342 IMPROMPTUS : To WILLIAM WATSON. (On his Coronation Ode) . . 344 "LiFE is THE HAMMER." (Sidney Lanier) .... 344 "THE CRITIC SCANNED THE POET S BOOK" .... 344 "HER DELICATE FORM" 345 FRANCESCA MIA 345 AGE, AND THE SCORNER 345 To JACOB A. Rns. (On his Silver Wedding) . . .346 Music AND FRIENDSHIP 346 FRIENDSHIP. (To ) 346 To E. C. S. (On his Seventieth Birthday) . . . .347 CONTENTS "TELL ME GOOD-BY" 347 FAREWELL TO CHARLESTON 348 "THE PINES" 348 "NOT WREATHS ALONE" 349 FOR THE CITY CLUB 349 To CHARLES H. RUSSELL. (Whose father was one of Lincoln s helpers) 349 "GIVE THY DAY TO DUTY" 350 Two OPTIMISTS. (A letter to Joseph Jefferson, ack nowledging a copy of Helen Keller s Essay on "Optimism") 350 THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 351 "SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING?" 353 HYMN. (Written for the service in memory of Dr J. L. M. Curry, held by the Southern Education Conference, Richmond, Virginia, April 26, 1903) 356 JOHN WESLEY. (Written for the celebration of the two- hundredth anniversary of the birth of John Wesley, at Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut, June, 1903) 357 A TEMPLE OF ART. (Written for the opening of the Al bright Art Gallery, Buffalo, May 31, 1905) 361 THE FIRE DIVINE THE FIRE DIVINE 367 THE INVISIBLE. (At a lecture) 368 DESTINY. (After reading a work on Astronomy) . . . 369 THE OLD FAITH 369 THE DOUBTER S SOLILOQUY 370 LAW 372 IDENTITY 373 "SPARE ME MY DREAMS" 374 HYMN. (Thanksgiving for Saints and Prophets) . . . .374 THE VALLEY OF LIFE 375 To ONE IMPATIENT OF FORM IN ART 377 To THE POET 378 COMPENSATION 379 THE POET S SECRET 380 "THE DAY BEGAN AS OTHER DAYS BEGIN" .... 380 XX CONTENTS A POET S QUESTION 381 PRELUDE FOR "A BOOK OF Music" 382 Music AT TWILIGHT 384 Music IN MOONLIGHT 386 THE UNKNOWN SINGER 387 THE VOICE 387 WAGNER 388 "THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY." (Tschaikowsky) . . .388 VMACDOWELL 388 A FANTASY OF CHOPIN. (Gabrilowitsch) 389 "HOW STRANGE THE MUSICIAN S MEMORY" 390 "IN A NIGHT OF MIDSUMMER" 390 IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 391 JOHN PAUL JONES . . . . . . w * . . . . .391 To EMMA LAZARUS. (1905) . . . . 392 CARL SCHURZ 392 GEORGE MACDONALD . , . . 393 JOSEPHINE SHAW LOWELL ........ 394 "ONE ROSE OF SONG." (Mary Putnam Jacobi) . . . 396 JOHN MALONE. (1906) 397 "LOST LEADERS." (City Club Memorial in honor of Wheeler H. Peckham, James C. Carter, William H. Baldwin, Jr., and Norton Goddard) 397 ON A CERTAIN AGNOSTIC. (G. E.) 398 "A WEARY WASTE WITHOUT HER." (L. B. P.) ... 398 THE POET S SLEEP. (T. B. A.) 399 WHERE SPRING BEGAN 399 AVARICE 400 PITY THE BLIND 400 PROOF OF SERVICE. (To R. F. C.) 400 CONQUERED , 401 BLAME. (A memory of Eisleben, the place of Luther s birth and death) 401 THE WHISPERERS. (New York, 1905) 402 BEFORE THE GRAND JURY 403 "!N THE CITIES" 404 A TRAGEDY OF TO-DAY. (New York, 1905) .... 406 THE OLD HOUSE 409 "THERE s NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE." (Old Home Week, Tyringham, 1905) 412 GLEN GILDER 417 CONTENTS SONG: "MARIA MIA" 418 OBSCURATION 419 "I DREAMED" 419 IMPROMPTUS : "FROM LOVE TO LOVE." (Fora wedding) ..... 420 "I ASKED YOU TO READ MY POEM" . . . - . . 420 NAZIMOVA . * . k . . 420 A WARRIOR OF TROY 420 THE OBELISK (1881) . 421 CROWNED ABSURDITIES 421 To "LITTLE LADY MARGARET" WITH A BOOK OF POEMS v % ... 421 SACRILEGE . . 421 To THE HERO OF A SCIENTIFIC ROMANCE . . . .421 THE WATCHMAN ON THE TOWER. (January, 1907) . .422 UNDER THE STARS : A REQUIEM FOR AUGUSTUS SAINT- GAUD ENS ...... 424 IN HELENA S GARDEN PART I IN HELENA S GARDEN THE SUNSET WINDOW 431 "THE GRAY WALLS OF THE GARDEN" - 431 THE MARBLE POOL 432 THE TABLE ROUND 433 THE SUN-DIAL 434 "SOMETHING MISSING FROM THE GARDEN" .... 434 THREE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN 435 EARLY AUTUMN 436 THE LAST FLOWER OF THE GARDEN ...... 436 PART II THE LION OF TYRINGHAM ^ . 437 THE VOICE OF THE HIGHT 437 A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP 439 A ROSE OF DREAM 440 SONG: "O WHITHER HAS SHE FLED FROM OUT THE DAWN ING AND THE DAY?" 440 XX11 CONTENTS "WHEN THE GIRLS COME TO THE OLD HOUSE" . . . 441 THE SONG OF A SONG 443 THE NET 444 SONG: "O PURER FAR THAN EVER I!" 445 SONG: "I AWOKE IN THE MORNING NOT KNOWING" . . 445 "WHEN THE WAR FLEET PUTS TO SEA" 446 ART. (Miss Geraldine Farrar in "Madama Butterfly") . 447 In PRAISE OF PORTRAITURE 448 IN TIMES OF PEACE 450 IMPROMPTUS : EDWARD EVERETT HALE 451 BARDS OF BRITAIN (1908) 451 CALVE . 451 IN A CONCERT ROOM 452 THE LONESOME WILD 452 NEW FRIENDS AND OLD 452 SHADOW AND SUN y 452 A NAVAL SURGEON OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION . 452 A MOTHER S PICTURE 453 ON A YOUNG HERO 453 A HERO S BRIDE 453 To ONE WHO PRAISED "THE GAY LIFE" .... 453 LYRIC LIVES 453 SONG : " A LITTLE LONGER STILL IN SUMMER SUNS" . .453 THE SINGING RIVER 454 THE SOLACE OF THE SKIES 454 THE WINDING PATH 455 "WHAT MAKES THE GARDEN GROW" 456 "IF, ONE GREAT DAY" 457 MUSIC BENEATH THE STARS 458 THE BIRDS OF WESTLAND 458 THE VEIL OF STARS 459 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 461 INDEX OF TITLES 473 FRONTISPIECE : Photograph by Gessford. DECORATIONS by H. de K. G. THE NEW DAY A POEM IN SONGS AND SONNETS THE NEW DAY PRELUDE THE night was dark, tho sometimes a faint star A little while a little space made bright. Dark was the night and like an iron bar Lay heavy on the land till o er the sea Slowly, within the East, there grew a light Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be The herald of a greater. The pale white Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the hight Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. There was light now, where all was black before: It was as on the opening of a door By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold (Its flame being hidden by the garment s fold), The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. More bright the East became, the ocean turned Dark and more dark against the brightening sky Sharper against the sky the long sea line. The hollows of the breakers on the shore Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, Tho sunlight make the outer branches hoar. From rose to red the level heaven burned; Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, A blade of gold flashed on the ocean s rim. THE NEW DAY PART I I SONNET (AFTER THE ITALIAN) I KNOW not if I love her overmuch ; But this I know, that when unto her face She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space, Then slowly falls t is I who feel that touch. And when she sudden shakes her head, with such A look, I soon her secret meaning trace. So when she runs I think t is I who race. Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch I am if she is gone; and when she goes, I know not why, for that is a strange art As if myself should from myself depart. I know not if I love her more than those Who long her light have known; but for the rose She covers in her hair, I d give my heart. II SONNET (AFTER THE ITALIAN) I LIKE her gentle hand that sometimes strays, To find the place, through the same book with mine; I like her feet; and O, those eyes divine! And when we say farewell, perhaps she stays Love-lingering then hurries on her ways, As if she thought, "To end my pain and thine." I like her voice better than new-made wine; I like the mandolin whereon she plays. HESITATION 5 And I like, too, the cloak I saw her wear, And the red scarf that her white neck doth cover, And well I like the door that she comes through; I like the riband that doth bind her hair But then, in truth, I am that lady s lover, And every new day there is something new. Ill "A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS TO THE SALT SEA S GRAY" A BARREN stretch that slants to the salt sea s gray, Rock-strewn, and scarred by fire, and rough with stubble, With here and there a bold, bright touch of color Berries and yellow leaves, that make the dolor More dolorous still. Above, a sky of trouble. But now a light is lifted in the air; And tho the sky is shadowed, fold on fold, By clouds that have the lightnings in their hold, That western gleam makes all the dim earth fair And the gray sea gold. IV HESITATION (A PORTRAIT) TO-DAY I saw the picture of a man Who, issuing from a wood, doth thrust apart Strong-matted, thorny branches, whose keen smart He heeds in nowise, if he only can Win the red rose a maiden, like a fan, Holds daintily. She, listening to her heart, Hath looked another way. Ah, would she start, And weep, and suffer sorrow, if he ran THE NEW DAY For utter love of her, forever back Into the shadows, which thrice darker were Because her whiteness made their black more black ! A little while he waits, lest he should err. Awhile he wonders, secretly. Alack! He could so gladly die or live for her. V LOVE GROWN BOLD THIS is her picture painted ere mine eyes Her ever holy face had looked upon. She sitteth in a silence of her own ; Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies; Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown Her firm hands hide from her; there all alone She sitteth in thought-trouble, maidenwise. And now her lover waiting wondereth Whether the joy of joys is drawing near; Shall his brave fingers like a tender breath That shut book open for her, wide and clear? From him who her sweet shadow worshipeth Now will she take the rose, and hold it dear? INTERLUDE THE sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam Across the moving waters to the land; Then for a little while it seemed to stand In a clear place, midway twixt sea and cloud; Whence rising swift again it past behind Full many a long and narrow cloud-wrought beam Encased in gold unearthly, that was mined From out the hollow caverns of the wind. THE TRAVELER 7 These first revealed its face and next did shroud, While still the daylight grew, and joy thereby Lit all the windy stretches of the sky Until a shadow darkened from the east And sprang upon the ocean like a beast. PART II THERE was a field green and fragrant with grass and flowers, and flooded with sunlight, and the air above it throbbed with the songs of birds. It was yet morning when a great darkness spread over the earth, and out of the darkness lightning, and after the lightning fire that consumed every green thing; and the singing birds fell dying upon the blackened grass. The thunder and the flame past, but it was still dark till a ray of light touched the field s edge and grew, little by little. Then one who listened heard not the songs of birds again, but the flutter of broken wings. II THE TRAVELER I MET a traveler on the road Whose back was bent beneath a load; His face was worn with mortal care, His frame beneath its burden shook, Yet onward, restless, he did fare With mien unyielding, fixt, a look Set forward in the empty air As he were reading an unseen book. THE NEW DAY What was it in his smile that stirred My soul to pity! When I drew More near it seemed as if I heard The broken echo of a tune Learned in some far and happy June. His lips were parted, but unmoved By words. He sang as dreamers do, And not as if he heard and loved The song he sang: I hear it now! He stood beside the level brook, Nor quenched his thirst, nor bathed his brow, Nor from his back the burden shook. He stood, and yet he did not rest; His eyes climbed up in aimless quest, Then close did to that mirror bow And, looking down, I saw in place Of his, my own familiar face. Ill "COME TO ME YE WHO SUFFER" COME to me ye who suffer, for to all I am a brother now ! T was not in vain I saw the face of Sorrow; she who slain Yet lives ; whose voice when she doth weep and call Is silent. When she weeps? Nay, nay! the pall Is on her tears too they are dead. The rain Is molten-hot, dust-dry from her dull pain, Like ashes from the burning heavens that fall. I know the world-wide, lovely, living lie; I know the truth that better were unknown; I know the joyful laugh that is a cry Torn from a heart whence hope and faith have flown, And yet beats on, and will not, dare not die. I know the anguish without word or moan. AND WERE THAT BEST 9 IV WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF "SHAKESPEARE S SONNETS" WHEN shall true love be love without alloy Shine free at last from sinful circumstance! When shall the canker of unheavenly chance Eat not the bud of that most heavenly joy! When shall true love meet love not as a coy Retreating light that leads a deathful dance, But as a firm fixt fire that doth enhance The beauty of all beauty! Will the employ Of poets ever be too well to show That mightiest love with sharpest pain doth writhe; That underneath the fair, caressing glove Hides evermore the iron hand; and tho Love s flower alone is good, if we would prove Its perfect bloom, our breath slays like a scythe! V "AND WERE THAT BEST! 1 AND were that best, Love, dreamless, endless sleep ! Gone all the fury of the mortal day The daylight gone, and gone the starry ray! And were that best, Love, rest serene and deep ! Gone labor and desire; no arduous steep To climb, no songs to sing, no prayers to pray, No help for those who perish by the way, No laughter mid our tears, no tears to weep! And were that best, Love, sleep with no dear dream, Nor memory of anything in life Stark death that neither help nor hurt can know ! O, rather, far, the sorrow-bringing gleam, The living day s long agony and strife ! Rather strong love in pain ; the waking woe ! 10 THE NEW DAY VI "THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN" THERE is nothing new under the sun; There is no new hope or despair; The agony just begun Is as old as the earth and the air. My secret soul of bliss Is one with the singing stars, And the ancient mountains miss No hurt that my being mars. I know as I know my life, I know as I know my pain, That there is no lonely strife, That he is mad who would gain A separate balm for his woe, A single pity and cover; The one great God I know Hears the same prayer over and over. I know it because at the portal Of Heaven I bowed and cried, And I said: "Was ever a mortal Thus crowned and crucified! My praise Thou hast made my blame; My best Thou hast made my worst; My good Thou hast turned to shame; My drink is a flaming thirst." But scarce my prayer was said Ere from that place I turned; I trembled, I hung my head, My cheek, shame-smitten, burned; INTERLUDE 1 1 For there where I bowed down In my boastful agony, I thought of thy cross and crown O Christ! I remembered thee. VII LOVE S CRUELTY "AND this, then, is thy love," I hear thee say, "And dost thou love, and canst thou torture so? Ah, spare me, if thou lov st me, this last woe!" But I am not my own; I must obey My master; I am slave to LOVE; his sway Is cruel as the grave. When he says Go ! I go; when he says Come! I come. I know No law but his. When he says SlayJ I slay. As cruel as the grave? Yes crueler: Cruel as light that pours its stinging flood Across the dark, and makes an anguished stir Of life; cruel as life that sends through blood Of mortal the immortal pang and spur; Cruel as thy remorseless maidenhood. INTERLUDE THE cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight And over all a shadowy roof outspread, Making the day dim with another night Not dark like that which past, but O, more dread For the clear sunlight that had gone before And prophecy of that which yet should be. Like snow at night the wind-blown hills of sand Shone with an inward gleam far down the land: Beneath the lowering sky black was the sea Across whose waves a bird came flying low, Borne swift on the wind with wing-beat halt and slow, 12 THE NEW DAY From out the dull east toward the foamy shore. There was an awful waiting in the earth As if a mystery greatened to its birth. Tho late it seemed, the day was just begun When lo! at last, the many-colored bow Stood in the heavens over against the sun. PART III I "THE PALLID WATCHER OF THE EASTERN SKIES" THE pallid watcher of the eastern skies Who, through the suffering night, did wait forlorn, When comes the first faint purple of the morn Waiteth no longer. To his happy eyes The promised near the promise following flies, Nor is his soul with sullen anguish torn, Nor curseth he the day when he was born. From the damp ground he doth in wonder rise, Firm set his face against the gathering glory So to be sure that this, at last, is this, And not the ancient, bitter-lying story. And now he prays for strength to bear the bliss, While, bending o er the mountain, red and hoary, The morning crowns him with a golden kiss. II "MY LOVE FOR THEE DOTH MARCH LIKE ARMED MEN" MY love for thee doth march like armed men, Against a queenly city they would take. Along the army s front its banners shake; Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO? 13 It stedfast sweeps as sweeps the stedfast rain ; And now the trumpet makes the still air quake, And now the thundering cannon doth awake Echo on echo, echoing loud again. But, lo! the conquest higher than bard e er sung: Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender! Joyful the iron gates are open flung And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender ! O, bright the invader s path with tribute flowers, While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers ! Ill "WHAT WOULD I SAVE THEE FROM?" WHAT would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart ? Not from what Heaven may send thee of its pain ; Not from fierce sunshine or the scathing rain : The pang of pleasure; passion s wound and smart; Not from the long, glad anguish of thine art; Nor loss of faithful friends, nor any gain Of growth by grief; I would not thee restrain From needful death. But O, thou other part Of me ! through whom the whole world I behold, As through the blue I see the stars above ! In whom the world I find, hid fold on fold! Thee would I save from this nay, do not move; Fear not, it may not flash, the air is cold; Save thee from this the lightning of my love. IV "WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO?" WHAT would I win thee to ? dear heart and true ! A thought of bliss, a thornless life ? Ah no ! Through weeping pain, Love, I would let thee go; Through weary days and widowed nights; yea, through 14 THE NEW DAY The Valley of the Shadow, without rue, If thou couldst gain the goal, Love, even so. I would not win thee to a fruitful woe; To best of earth or best beyond the blue. And most of all would thy true lover scorn To win thee to himself; thou shalt be free To have or hate! But O, my golden morn! Behold thy lover s passionate bravery Mighty, unresting, stedfast, heaven-born To win thee to the light, which is to thee ! V "I WILL BE BRAVE FOR THEE" I WILL be brave for thee, dear heart; for thee My boasted bravery forego. I will For thee be wise, or lose my little skill; Coward or brave; wise, foolish; bond or free. No grievous cost in anything I see That brings thee bliss, or only keeps thee, still, In painless peace. So Heaven thy cup but fill, Be empty mine unto eternity! Corr me, Love, and let me touch thy face! A .-ne, Love; breathe on me thy dear breath! K, m me, Love, to some far hiding-place, If thy one thought of me or hindereth Or hurteth thy sweet soul then grant me grace To be forgotten, tho that grace be death ! VI "LOVE ME NOT, LOVE, FOR THAT I FIRST LOVED THEE" LOVE me not, Love, for that I first loved thee; Nor love me, Love, for thy sweet pity s sake, In knowledge of the mortal pain and ache Which is the fruit of love s blood-veined tree. BODY AND SOUL 15 Let others for my love give love to me; From other souls, O, gladly will I take, This burning, heart-dry thirst of love to slake, What seas of human pity there may be ! Nay, nay, I care no more how love may grow, So that I hear thee answer to my call; Love me because my piteous tears do flow, Or that my love for thee did first befall. Love me or late or early, fast or slow But love me, Love, for love is all in all ! VII BODY AND SOUL O, THOU my Love, love first my lonely soul! Then shall this too unworthy body of mine Be loved by right and accident divine. Forget the flesh, that the pure spirit s goal May be the spirit; let that stand the whole Of what thou lov st in me. So will the shine Of soul that strikes on soul make fair aqd *" n e This earthy tenement ; thou shalt extol, The inner, that the outer lovelier seem. Thy lover, who thy love implores, doth fear No deadlier foe than the impassioned dream Should drive thee to him, and should hold thee near Near to the body, not the soul of him: Love first my soul and then both will be dear. But, Love, for me thy body was the first. One day I wandered idly through the town, Then entered a cathedral s silence brown Which sudden thrilled with a strange heavenly burst 1 6 THE NEW DAY Of light and music. Lo ! that traveler durst Do nothing now but worship and fall down. He thought to rest, as doth some tired clown Who sinks in longed-for sleep, but there immersed Finds restless vision on vision of beauty rare. Moved by thy body s outer majesty I entered in thy silent, sacred shrine; T was then, all suddenly and unaware, Thou didst reveal, O, maiden Love ! to me, This beautiful, singing, holy soul of thine. VIII "THY LOVER, LOVE, WOULD HAVE SOME NOBLER WAY" THY lover, Love, would have some nobler way To tell his love, his noble love to tell, Than rhymes set ringing like a silver bell. O, he would lead an army, great and gay, From conquering to conquer, day by day! And when the walls of a proud citadel At summons of his guns far-echoing fell That thunder to his Love should murmuring say: Thee onfy lo I love, dear Love of mine! And while men cried: Behold how brave a fight! She should read well, O, well! each new emprize: This to her lips, this to my lady s eyes! And tho the world were conquered, line on line, Still would his love be speechless, day and night. IX LOVE S JEALOUSY OF other men I know no jealousy, Nor of the maid who holds thee close, O, close! But of the June-red, summer-scented rose, And of the barred and golden sunset sky ONCE ONLY 17 That wins the soul of thee through thy deep eye; And of the breeze by thee beloved, that goes O er thy dear hair and brow; the song that flows Into thy heart of hearts, where it may die. I would I were one moment that sweet show Of flower; or breeze beloved that toucheth all; Or sky that through the summer eve doth burn. I would I were the song thou lovest so, At sound of me to have thine eyelids fall ; But I would then to something human turn. X LOVE S MONOTONE THOU art so used, Love, to thine own bird s song, Sung to thine ear in love s low monotone, Sung to thee only, Love, to thee alone Of all the listening world, that I among My doubts find this the leader of the throng: Haply the music hath accustomed grown And no more music is to thee; my own Too faithful argument works its own wrong. Love, Love, and must I learn for thy sweet sake The art of silence? Ah, then hide the light Of thy dear countenance, lest the music wake! Yet should thy bird at last fall silent quite, Would not thy heart an unused sorrow take? Think not of me but of thyself to-night. XI "ONCE ONLY" ONCE only, Love, may love s sweet song be sung; But once, Love, at our feet love s flower is flung; Once, Love, once only, Love, can we be young; Say shall we love, dear Love, or shall we hate! 1 8 THE NEW DAY Once only, Love, will burn the blood-red fire; But once awakeneth the wild desire; Love pleadeth long, but what if love should tire! Now shall we love, dear Love, or shall we wait! The day is short, the evening cometh fast; The time of choosing, Love, will soon be past; The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last; Love, let us love ere it be late too late ! XII DENIAL WHEN some new thought of love in me is born, Then swift I seek a token fair and meet That may unblamed thy blessed vision greet ; Whether it be a rose, not bloodless torn From that June tree which hideth many a thorn, Or but a simple, loving message, sweet With summer s heart and mine, these at thy feet I straightway fling; but all with maiden scorn Thou spurnest. What to thee is token or sign, Who dost deny the thing wherefor it stands! Then I seem foolish in my sight and thine, Like one who eager proffers empty hands. Thou only callest these my gifts unfine, While men are praising them in distant lands. XIII "ONCE WHEN WE WALKED WITHIN A SUMMER FIELD" ONCE when we walked within a summer field I pluckt the flower of immortality, And said, " Dear Love of mine, I give to thee This flower of flowers of all the round year s yield!" 7 ) J LISTENING TO MUSIC IQ T was then thou stood st, and with one hand didst shield Thy sun-dazed eyes, and, flinging the other free, Spurned from thee that white blossom utterly. But, Love, the immortal cannot so be killed. The generations shall behold thee stand Against that western glow in grass dew-wet Lord of my life, and lady of the land. Nor maid nor lover shall the world forget, Nor that disdainful wafture of thy hand. Thou scornful ! sun and flower shall find thee yet. XIV SONG I LOVE her gentle forehead, And I love her tender hair; I love her cool, white arms, And her neck where it is bare. I love the smell of her garments; I love the touch of her hands; I love the sky above her, And the very ground where she stands. I love her doubting and anguish; I love the lovejshe withholds; I love my love that loveth her And anew her being molds. XV LISTENING TO MUSIC WHEN on that joyful sea Where billow on billow breaks; where swift waves follow Waves, and hollow calls to hollow; Where sea-birds swirl and swing, 2O THE NEW DAY And winds through the rigging shrill and sing; Where night is one vast starless shade; Where thy soul not afraid, Tho all alone unlonely, Wanders and wavers, wavers wandering; On that accursed sea One moment only, Forget one moment, Love, thy fierce content; Back let thy soul be bent Think back, dear Love, O Love, think back to me! XVI "A SONG OF THE MAIDEN MORN" A SONG of the maiden morn, A song for my little maid, Of the silver sunlight born ! But I am afraid, afraid, When I come my maid may be Nothing, there, but a shade. But O, her shadow is more to me Than the shadowless light of eternity ! XVII WORDS IN ABSENCE I WOULD that my words were as my fingers, So that my Love might feel them move Slowly over her brow, as lingers The sunset wind o er the world of its love. I would that my words were as the beating Of her own heart, that keeps repeating My name through the livelong day and the night; And when my Love her lover misses, Longs for and loves in the dark and the light, THISTLE-DOWN 21 I would that my words were as my kisses. I would that my words her life might fill Be to her earth, and air, and skies. I would that my words were husht and still Lost in the light of her eyes. XVIII SONG THE birds were singing, the skies were gay; I looked from the window on meadow and wood, On green, green grass that the sun made white; Beyond the river the mountain stood Blue was the mountain, the river was bright; I looked on the land and it was not good, For my own dear Love she had flown away. XIX THISTLE-DOWN FLY, thistle-down, fly From my lips to the lips that I love! Fly through the morning light, Flee through the shadowy night, Over the sea and the land, Quick as the lark Through twilight and dark, Through lightning and thunder; Till no longer asunder We stand; For thy touch like the lips of her lover Moves her being to mine We are one in a swoon divine! Fly, thistle-down, fly From my lips to the lips that I love! 22 THE NEW DAY XX "O SWEET WILD ROSES THAT BUD AND BLOW" O SWEET wild roses that bud and blow Along the way that my Love may go; O moss-green rocks that touch her dress, And grass that her dear feet may press; O maple-tree whose brooding shade For her a summer tent has made; O goldenrod and brave sunflower That flame before my maiden s bower; O butterfly on whose light wings The golden summer sunshine clings; O birds that flit o er wheat and wall, And from cool hollows pipe and call; O falling water whose distant roar Sounds like the waves upon the shore; O winds that down the valley sweep, And lightnings from the clouds that leap; O skies that bend above the hills; O gentle rains and babbling rills; O moon and sun that beam and burn Keep safe my Love till I return! XXI THE RIVER I KNOW thou art not that brown mountain-side, Nor the pale mist that lies along the hills And with white joy the deepening valley fills; Nor yet the solemn river moving wide SONG 23 Into that valley, where the hills abide But whence those morning clouds on noiseless wheels Shall lingering lift and, as the moonlight steals From out the heavens, so into the heavens shall glide. I know thou art not this gray rock that looms Above the water, fringed with scarlet vine ; Nor flame of burning meadow; nor the sedge That sways and trembles at the river s edge. But through all these, dear heart ! to me there comes Some melancholy, absent look of thine. XXII THE LOVER S LORD AND MASTER I PRAY thee, dear, think not alone of me, But sometimes think of my great master, LOVE; His faithful slave he is so far above That for his sake I would forgotten be Tho well I know that hidden thus from thee Not far away my image then might rove, And his sweet, heavenly countenance would move Ever thy soul to gentler charity. So when thy lover s self leaps from his song Thou him may love not less for his fair Lord. But that thy love for me grow never small (As bow long bent twangs not the arrowed cord, And he doth lose his star who looks too long), Sometimes, dear heart, think not of me at all. XXIII SONG MY love grew with the growing night, And dawned with the new daylight. 24 THE NEW DAY XXIV "A NIGHT OF STARS AND DREAMS" A NIGHT of stars and dreams, of dreams and sleep; A waking into another empty day But not unlovely all, for then I say: " To-morrow ! " Through the hours this light doth creep Higher in the heavens, as down the heavenly steep Sinks the slow sun. Another evening gray, Made glorious by the morn that comes that way; Another night, and then To-day doth leap Upon the world ! O, quick the hours do fly, Of that new day which brings the moment when We meet at last! Swift up the shaking sky Rushes the sun from out its dismal den; And then the wisht for time doth yearn more nigh ; A white robe glimmering in the dark and then ! XXV A BIRTHDAY SONG I THOUGHT this day to bring to thee A flower that grows on the red rose tree. I searched the branches O, despair! Of roses every branch was bare. I thought to sing thee a birthday song As wild as my love, as deep and strong. The song took wing like a frightened bird, And its music my maiden never heard. But, Love, the flower and the song divine One day of the year will yet be thine; And thou shalt be glad when the rose I bring, And weep for joy at the song I sing. THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE 25 XXVI "WHAT CAN LOVE DO FOR THEE, LOVE?" WHAT can love do for thee, Love? Can it make the green fields greener; Bluer the skies, and bluer The eyes of the blue-eyed flowers? Can it make the May-day showers More warm and sweet; serener The heavens after the rain ? The sunset s radiant splendor More exquisite and tender? The Northern Star more sure ? Can it take the pang from pain ? (O Love, remember the curtain Of cloud that lifted last night And showed the silver light Of a star!) Can it make more certain The heart of the heart of all, The good that works at the root The singing soul of love That throbs in flower and fruit, In man and earth and brute, In hell, and heaven above? Can its low voice musical Make dear the day and the night? XXVII "THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE" THE smile of her I love is like the dawn Whose touch makes Memnon sing. O, see where wide the golden sunlight flows The barren desert blossoms as the rose ! 26 THE NEW DAY The smile of her I love when that is gone, O er all the world Night spreads her shadowy wing. XXVIII FRANCESCA AND PAOLO WITHIN the second dolorous circle where The lost are whirled, lamenting thou and I Stood, Love, to-day with Dante. Silently We looked upon the black and trembling air; When lo! from out that darkness of despair Two shadows, light upon the wind, drew nigh, Whose very motion seemed to breathe a sigh And there Francesca, and her lover there. These when we saw, the wounds whereat they bled, Their love which was not with their bodies slain These when we saw, great were the tears we shed; As, Love, for thee and me love s tears shall rain The mortal agony; the nameless dread; The longing, and the passion, and the pain. XXIX THE UNKNOWN WAY Two travelers met upon a plain Where two straight, narrow pathways crossed; They met and, with a still surprise, They looked into each other s eyes And knew that never, O, never again! Could one from the other soul be lost. But lo! these narrow pathways lead Now each from each apart, and lo! In neither pathway can they go Together, in their new, strange need. THE SOWER 27 Far-off the purple mountains loom, Vague and far-off, and fixt as fate, Which hide from sight that land unknown Where, ever, like a carven stone The setting sun doth stand and wait, And men cry not : " Too late ! too late ! " And sorrow turns to a golden gloom. But O, the long journey all unled By track of traveler o er the plain The stony desert, bleak and rude, The bruised feet and the tired brain; And O, the twofold solitude, The doubt, the danger, and the dread! XXX THE SOWER A SOWER went forth to sow; His eyes were dark with woe; He crusht the flowers beneath his feet, Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried By iron, and to heaven laid bare; He shook the seed that he carried O er that brown and bladeless place. He shook it, as God shakes hail Over a doomed land, When lightnings interlace The sky and the earth, and His wand Of love is a thunder-flail. Thus did that Sower sow; His seed was human blood, And tears of women and men. 28 THE NEW DAY And I, who near him stood, Said: When the crop comes, then There will be sobbing a*nd sighing, Weeping and wailing and crying, Flame, and ashes, and woe. It was an autumn day When next I went that way. And what, think you, did I see, What was it that I heard, What music was in the air? The song of a sweet-voiced bird? Nay but the songs of many, Thrilled through with praise and prayer. Of all those voices not any Were sad of memory; But a sea of sunlight flowed, A golden harvest glowed, And I said: Thou only art wise, God of the earth and skies! And I praise Thee, again and again, For the Sower whose name is Pain. XXXI "WHEN THE LAST DOUBT IS DOUBTED" WHEN the last doubt is doubted, The last black shadow flown; When the last foe is routed; When the night is over and gone Then, Love, O then! there will be rest and peace Sweet peace and rest that never thou hast known. INTERLUDE 2Q When the hope that in thee moveth Is born and brought to sight ; When past is the pain that proveth The worth of thy new delight O then, Love! then there will be joy and peace: Deep peace and joy, bright morning after night. INTERLUDE As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side In spaces that grow wider and more wide, So melted from the sky the cloudy veil That hid the face of sunrise. Land and ledge And waste of glittering waters sent a glare Back to the smiting sun. The trembling air Lay, sea on sea, along the horizon s edge; And on that upper ocean, clear as glass, The tall ships followed with deep-mirrored sail Like clouds wind-moved that follow and that pass; And on that upper ocean, far and fair, Floated lew islands all unseen before. Green grew the ocean shaken through with light, And blue the heavens faint-fleckt with plumy white. Like pennants on the wind, from o er the rocks The birds whirled seaward in shrill-piping flocks And through the dawn, as through the shadowy night, The sound of waves that break upon the shore! 30 THE NEW DAY PART IV I SONG LOVE, Love, my love, The best things are the truest! When the earth lies shadowy dark below, O then the heavens are bluest ! Deep the blue of the sky, And sharp the gleam of the stars, And O, more bright against the night The Aurora s crimson bars! II THE MIRROR THAT I should love thee seemeth meet and wise, So beautiful thou art that he were mad Who in thy countenance no pleasure had; Who felt not the still music of thine eyes Fall on his forehead, as the evening skies The music of the stars feel and are glad. But o er my mind one doubt still cast a shade Till in my thought this answer did arise: That thou shouldst love me is not wise or meet, For like thee, Love, I am not beautiful; And yet I think that haply in my face Thou findest a true beauty; this poor, dull, Disfigured mirror dimly may repeat A little part of thy most heavenly grace. Ill LIKENESS IN UNLIKENESS WE are alike, and yet, O strange and sweet ! Each in the other difference discerns; ALL IN ONE 31 So the torn strands the maiden s finger turns Opposing ways, when they again do meet Clasp each in each, as flame clasps into heat ; So when this hand on this cool bosom burns, Each sense is lost in the other. So two urns Do, side by side, the selfsame lines repeat, But various color gives a lovelier grace, And each by contrast still more fine has grown. Thus, Love, it was, I did forget thy face As more and more to me thy soul was known; Vague in my mind it grew till, in its place, Another came I knew not from my own. IV SONG NOT from the whole wide world I chose thee Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea ! The wide, wide world could not inclose thee, For thou art the whole wide world to me. V ALL IN ONE ONCE when a maiden maidenly went by, Or when I found some wonder in the grass, Or when a purple sunset slow did pass, Or a great star rushed silent through the sky; Once when I heard a singing ecstasy, Or saw the moon s face in the river s glass Then I remembered that for me, alas! This beauty must for ever and ever die. But now I may thus sorrow never more; From fleeting beauty thou hast torn the pall; Of beauty, Love, thou art the soul and core; 32 THE NEW DAY And tho the empty shadow fading fall, Tho lesser birds lift up their wings and soar, In having thee alone, Love, I have all. VI "I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I MEET THEE" I COUNT my time by times that I meet thee; These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons, And nights; these my old moons and my new moons Slow fly the hours, or fast the hours do flee, If thou art far from or art near to me; If thou art far, the bird tunes are no tunes; If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes Darkness is light, and sorrow cannot be. Thou art my dream come true, and thou my dream; The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell ; My journey s end thou art, and thou the way; ; Thou art what I would be, yet only seem; Thou art my heaven and thou art my hell; Thou art my ever-living judgment-day. VII SONG YEARS have flown since I knew thee first, And I know thee as water is known of thirst; Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night. VIII THE SEASONS O STRANGE Spring days, when from the shivering ground Love riseth, wakening from his dreamful swound And, frightened, in the stream his face hath found! THE VIOLIN 33 O Summer days; when Love hath grown apace, And feareth not to look upon Love s face, And lightnings burn where earth and sky embrace ! O Autumn, when the winds are dank and dread, How brave above the dying and the dead The conqueror, Love, uplifts his banner red ! O Winter, when the earth lies white and chill! Now only hath strong Love his perfect will, Whom heat, nor cold, nor death can bind nor kill. IX "SUMMER S RAIN AND WINTER S SNOW" SUMMER S rain and winter s snow With the seasons come and go; Shine and shower; 7 Tender bud and perfect flower; Silver blossom, golden fruit; Song and lute, With their inward sound of pain ; Winter s snow and summer s rain; Frost and fire; Joy beyond the heart s desire And our June comes round again. X THE VIOLIN BEFORE the listening world behold him stand; The warm air trembles with his passionate play; Their cheers shower round him like the ocean spray Round one who waits upon the stormy strand. Their smiles, sighs, tears all are at his command ; 34 THE NEW DAY And now they hear the trump of judgment-day, And now one silver note to heaven doth stray And fluttering fall upon the golden sand. But like the murmur of the distant sea Their loud applause, and far off, faint, and weak Sounds his own music to him, wild and free Far from the soul of music that doth speak In wordless wail and lyric ecstasy From that good viol prest against his cheek. XI "O MIGHTY RIVER, TRIUMPHING TO THE SEA" MIGHTY river, triumphing to the sea, Strong, calm, and solemn as thy mountains be! Poets have sung thy ever-living power, Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep; What commerce thine, how many myriads reap The harvest of thy waters. They have sung Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts Of savage warriors that once plowed thy waves Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves; The waving outline of thy wooded mountains, Thy populous towns that stretch from forest fountains On either side, far to the salty main, Like golden coins alternate on a chain. Thou pathway of the empire of the North, Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth! 1 hear thee praised as one who hears the shout That follows when a hero from the rout Of battle issues: "Lo, how brave is he, AFTER MANY DAYS 35 How noble, proud, and beautiful!" But she Who knows him best: "How tender!" So thou art The river of love to me! Heart of my heart, Dear love and bride is it not so indeed ? Among your treasures keep this new-pluckt reed. XII "MY SONGS ARE ALL OF THEE" MY songs are all of thee, what tho I sing Of morning when the stars are yet in sight, Of evening, or the melancholy night, Of birds that o er the reddening waters wing; Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling To mountain-tops, of winter all in white, Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight, Of summer when the rose is blossoming. I think no thought that is not thine, no breath Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity; Thou art the voice that silence uttereth, And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee The music of my song, and what it saith Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me. XIII AFTER MANY DAYS DEAR heart, I would that after many days, When we are gone, true lovers in a book Might find these faithful songs of ours. " O look ! " I hear him murmur while he straightway lays His finger on the page, and she doth raise Her eyes to his. Then, like the winter brook From whose young limbs a sudden summer shook The fetters, love flows on in sunny ways. 36 THE NEW DAY I would that when we are no more, dear heart, The world might hold thy unforgotten name Inviolate in these eternal rhymes. I would have poets say: "Let not the art Wherewith they loved be lost ! To us the blame Should love grow less in these our modern times." XIV WEAL AND WOE O HIGHEST, strongest, sweetest woman-soul! Thou holdest in the compass of thy grace All the strange fate and passion of thy race; Of the old, primal curse thou knowest the whole. Thine eyes, too wise, are heavy with the dole, The doubt, the dread of all this human maze; Thou in the virgin morning of thy days Hast felt the bitter waters o er thee roll. Yet thou knowest, too, the terrible delight, The still content, and solemn ecstasy; Whatever sharp, sweet bliss thy kind may know. Thy spirit is deep for pleasure as for woe Deep as the rich, dark-caverned, awful sea That the keen-winded, glimmering dawn makes white. XV "O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD" O, LOVE is not a summer mood, Nor flying phantom of the brain, Nor youthful fever of the blood, Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. Love is not born of blinded chance, Nor bred in simple ignorance. HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF DUTY 37 Love is the flower of maidenhood; Love is the fruit of mortal pain; And she hath winter in her blood. True love is stedfast as the skies, And once alight she never flies; And love is strong, and love is wise. XVI "LOVE IS NOT BOND TO ANY MAN" LOVE is not bond to any man, Nor slave of woman, howso fair. Love knows no architect nor plan, She is a lawless wanderer, She hath no master over her, And loveth not her worshiper. But tho she knoweth law nor plan, Tho she is free as light and air, Love was a slave since time began. Lo, now, behold a wondrous thing: Tho from stone walls she taketh wing, Love may be led by a silken string. XVII "HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF DUTY " HE knows not the path of duty Who says that the way is sweet; But he who is blind to the beauty, And finds but thorns for his feet. He alone is the perfect giver Who swears that his gift is naught; And he is the sure receiver Who gains what he never sought. 38 THE NEW DAY Heaven from the hopeless doubter The true believer makes; Against the darkness outer The light God s likeness takes. Like the pale, cold moon above her With its heart of the heart of fire, My Love is the one true lover, And hers is the soul of desire. AFTER-SONG THROUGH love to light ! O, wonderful the way That leads from darkness to the perfect day! From darkness and from sorrow of the night To morning that comes singing o er the sea. Through love to light! Through light, O God, to Thee, Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light ! THE CELESTIAL PASSION THE CELESTIAL PASSION PRELUDE O WHITE and midnight sky ! O starry bath ! Wash me in thy pure, heavenly, crystal flood; Cleanse me, ye stars, from earthly soil and scath; Let not one taint remain in spirit or blood! Receive my soul, ye burning, awful deeps; Touch and baptize me with the mighty power That in ye thrills, while the dark planet sleeps; Make me all yours for one blest, secret hour! O glittering host! O high angelic choir! Silence each tone that with thy music jars; Fill me even as an urn with thy white fire Till all I am is kindred to the stars! Make me thy child, thou infinite, holy night So shall my days be steeped in heavenly light! PART I ART AND LIFE SAID the Poet unto the Seer: How shall I learn to tell What I know of Heaven and Hell? I speak, but to ashes turn The passions that in me burn. I shout to the skies, but I hear No answer from man or God. 42 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Shall I cast my lyre to the sod, Rest, and give over the strife, And sink in a voiceless life? Said the Seer to the Poet : Arise And give to the seas and the skies The message that in thee burns. Thrice speak, tho the blue sky turns Deaf ears, and the ocean spurns Thy call. Tho men despise The word that from out thy heart Flameth; do thou thy part. Thrice speak it, aloud, I say, Then go, released, on thy way; Live thou deeply and wise; Suffer as never before; Know joy, till it cuts to the quick ; Eat the apple, Life, to the core. Be thou curst By them thou hast blest, by the sick Whom thou in thy weakness nursed. With thy strength the faint endue; Be praised when t were better to blame; In the home of thy spirit be true, Tho the voice of the street cry shame. Be silent till all is done, Then return, in the light of the sun, And once more sing. O, then fling Into music thy soul ! Tell the seas Again all thy thought; O, be strong Thy voice as the voice of the waves, as the voice of the trees ! Tell the blast, That shall shudder as onward it flies THE POET AND HIS MASTER 43 With thy word, with thy song; Tell the skies, And the world, that shall listen at last! THE POET AND HIS MASTER ONE day the poet s harp lay on the ground, Tho from it rose a strange and trembling sound What time the wind swept over with a moan, Or, now and then, a faint and tinkling tone When a dead leaf fell shuddering from a tree And shook the silent wires all tremulously; And near it, dumb with sorrow, and alone The poet sat. His heart was like a stone. Then one drew near him who was robed in white: It was the poet s master; he had given To him that harp, once in a happy night When every silver star that shone in heaven Made music ne er before was heard by mortal wight. And thus the master spoke : " Why is thy voice Silent, O poet ? Why upon the grass Lies thy still harp? The fitful breezes pass And stir the wires, but the skilled player s hand Moves not upon them. Poet, wake! Rejoice! Sing and arouse the melancholy land!" "Master, forbear. I may not sing to-day; My nearest friend, the brother of my heart, This day is stricken with sorrow; he must part From her who loves him. Can I sing, and play Upon the joyous harp, and mock his woe?" 44 THE CELESTIAL PASSION "Alas, and hast thou then so soon forgot The bond that with thy gift of song did go Severe as fate, fixt and unchangeable? Even tho his heart be sounding its own knell, Dost thou not know this is the poet s lot: Mid sounds of war, in halcyon times of peace, To strike the ringing wire and not to cease; In hours of general happiness to swell The common joy; and when the people cry With piteous voice loud to the pitiless sky, T is his to frame the universal prayer And breathe the balm of song upon the accursed air?" "But t is not, O my master! that I borrow The robe of grief to deck my brother s sorrow Mine eyes have seen beyond the veil of youth; I know what Life is, have caught sight of Truth; My heart is dead within me; a thick pall Darkens the midday sun." " And dost thou call This sorrow? Call this knowledge? O thou blind And ignorant! Know, then, thou yet shalt find, Ere thy full days are numbered neath the sun, Thou, in thy shallow youth, hadst but begun To guess what knowledge is, what grief may be, And all the infinite sum of human misery; Shalt find that for each drop of perfect good Thou payest, at last, a threefold price in blood; What is most noble in thee, every thought Highest and best, crusht, spat upon, and brought To an open shame; thy natural ignorance Counted thy crime; the world all ruled by chance, Save that the good most suffer; but above MORS TRIUMPHALIS 45 These ills another, cruel, monstrous, worse Than all before thy pure and passionate love Shall bring the old, immitigable curse." "And thou, who tell st me this, dost bid me sing?" "I bid thee sing, even tho I have not told All the deep flood of anguish shall be rolled Across thy breast. Nor, Poet, shalt thou bring From out those depths thy grief! Tell to the wind Thy private woes, but not to human ear, Save in the shape of comfort for thy kind. But never hush thy song, dare not to cease While life is thine. Haply, mid those who hear, Thy music to one soul shall murmur peace, Tho for thyself it hath no power to cheer. "Then shall thy still unbroken spirit grow Strong in its silent suffering and more wise; And, as the drenched and thunder-shaken skies Pass into golden sunset, thou shalt know An end of calm, when evening breezes blow; And, looking on thy life with vision fine, Shalt see the shadow of a hand divine." MORS TRIUMPHALIS i IN the hall of the king the loud mocking of many at one; While lo ! with his hand on his harp the old bard is undone ! One false note, then he stammers, he sobs like a child, he is failing, And the song that so bravely began ends in discord and wailing. 46 THE CELESTIAL PASSION n Can it be it is they who make merry, t is they taunting him? Shall the sun, then, be scorned by the planets, the tree by the limb ! These bardlings, these mimics, these echoes, these shad ows at play, While he only is real ; they shine but as motes in his day! m All that in them is best is from him ; all they know he has taught; But one secret he never could teach, and they never have caught The soul of his songs, that goes sighing like wind through the reeds, And thrills men, and moves them to terror, to prayer, and to deeds. IV Has the old poet failed, then the singer forgotten his art? Why, t was he who once startled the world with a cry from his heart; And he held it entranced in a life-song, all music, all love ; If now it grow faint and grow still, they have called him above. Ah, never again shall we hear such fierce music and sweet Surely never from you, ye who mock, for his footstool unmeet; MORS TRIUMPHALIS 47 E en his song left unsung had more power than the note ye prolong, And one sweep of his harp-strings outpassioned the hight of your song. VI But a sound like the voice of the pine, like the roar of the sea Arises. He breathes now; he sings; O, again he is free. He has flung from his flesh, from his spirit, their shackles accurst, And he pours all his heart, all his life, in one passionate burst. VII And now as he chants those who listen turn pale, are afraid; For he sings of a God that made all, and is all that was made; Who is maker of love, and of hate, and of peace, and of strife ; Smiles a heaven into being; frowns a hell, that yet thrills with His life. VIII And he sings of the time that shall be when the earth is grown old; Of the day when the sun shall be withered, and shrunken, and cold; When the stars, and the moon, and the sun, all their glory o erpast, Like apples that shrivel and rot, shall drop into the Vast. 48 THE CELESTIAL PASSION IX . And onward and out soars his song on its journey sub lime, Mid systems that vanish or live in the lilt of his rhyme; And through making and marring of races, and worlds, still he sings One theme, that o er all and through all his wild music outrings x This one theme : that whate er be the fate that has hurt us or joyed; Whatever the face that is turned to us out of the void; Be it cursing or blessing; or night, or the light of the sun; Be it ill, be it good; be it life, be it death, it is ONE; XI One thought, and one law, and one awful and infinite power ; In atom, and world; in the bursting of fruit and of flower ; The laughter of children, and roar of the lion untamed; And the stars in their courses one name that can never be named. XII But sudden a silence has fallen, the music has fled; Tho he leans with his hand on his harp, now indeed he is dead; But the swan-song he sang shall for ever and ever abide In the heart of the world, with the winds and the murmur ing tide. A CHRISTMAS HYMN 49 THE MASTER-POETS HE the great World-Musician at whose stroke The stars of morning into music broke; He from whose Being Infinite are caught All harmonies of light, and sound, and thought Once in each age, to keep the world in tune, He strikes a note sublime. Nor late, nor soon, A godlike soul, music and passion s birth, Vibrates across the discord of the earth And sets the world aright. O, these are they Who on men s hearts with mightiest power can play The master-poets of humanity, From heaven sent down to lift men to the sky. PART II * A CHRISTMAS HYMN i TELL me what is this innumerable throng Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? These are they who come with swift and shining feet From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet. n O, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky, As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly? The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heav enly host appeared. 50 THE CELESTIAL PASSION in Who are these that follow across the hills of night A star that westward hurries along the fields of light? Three wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure bring To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ and King. IV What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries? Near on her bed of pain his happy mother lies. O, see I the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings . This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King oj Kings. Tell me, how may I join in this holy feast With all the kneeling world, and I of all the least? Fear not, O faithful heart, but bring what most is meet : Bring love alone, true love alone, and lay it at his feet. EASTER i WHEN in the starry gloom They sought the Lord Christ s tomb, Two angels stood in sight, All drest in burning white, Who unto the women said : "Why seek ye the living among the dead?" EASTER 51 II His life, his hope, his heart, With death they had no part; For this those words of scorn First heard that holy morn, When the waiting angels said: "Why seek ye the living among the dead?" in O, ye of this latter day, Who journey the selfsame way Through morning s twilight gloom Back to the shadowy tomb; To you, as to them, was it said: "Why seek ye the living among the dead?" IV The Lord is risen indeed, He is here for your love, for your need Not in the grave, nor the sky, But here where men live and die; And true the word that was said : "Why seek ye the living among the dead?" Wherever are tears and sighs, Wherever are children s eyes, Where man calls man his brother, And loves as himself another, Christ lives! The angels said: "Why seek ye the living among the dead? " 52 THE CELESTIAL PASSION A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LIPPI No heavenly maid we here behold, Tho round her brow a ring of gold; This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet, Is human all from head to feet. Together close her palms are prest In worship of that godly guest; But glad her heart and unafraid While on her neck his hand is laid. Two children, happy, laughing, gay, Uphold the little child in play; Not flying angels these, what tho Four wings from their four shoulders grow. Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee A lesson of humanity; To every mother s heart forlorn, In every house the Christ is born. COST BECAUSE Heaven s cost is Hell, and perfect joy Hurts as hurts sorrow; and because we win Some boon of grace with the dread cost of sin, Or suffering born of sin; because the alloy Of blood but makes the bliss of victory brighter; Because true worth hath surest proof herein, That it should be reproached, and called akin To evil things black making white the whiter; Because no cost seems great near this that He HOLY LAND 53 Should pay the ransom wherewith we were priced; And none could name* a darker infamy Than that a god was spit upon, enticed By those he came to save, to the accursed tree, For this I know that Christ indeed is Christ. THE SONG OF A HEATHEN (SOJOURNING IN GALILEE, A. D. 32) i IF Jesus Christ is a man, And only a man, I say That of all mankind I cleave to him, And to him will I cleave alway. If Jesus Christ is a God, And the only God, I swear I will follow Him through heaven and hell, The earth, the sea, and the air! HOLY LAND THIS is the earth he walked on; not alone That Asian country keeps the sacred stain; Ah, not alone the far Judaean plain, Mountain and river! Lo, the sun that shone On him, shines now on us; when day is gone The moon of Galilee comes forth again And lights our path as his; an endless chain Of years and sorrows makes the round world one. The air we breathe, he breathed the very air That took the mold and music of his high And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal dare 54 THE CELESTIAL PASSION With base thought front the ever-sacred sky Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid In holy death his pale, immortal head! ON A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS THOU grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look With haunting eyes forth from the narrow page! I know what fires consumed with inward rage Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook. Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook Time s sure devourment, but must needs assuage His anger in thy blood, and blot the age With that dark crime which virtue s semblance took! Servetus! that which slew thee lives to-day, Tho in new forms it taints our modern air; Still in heaven s name the deeds of hell are done; Still on the high-road, neath the noonday sun, The fires of hate are lit for them who dare Follow their Lord along the untrodden way. "DESPISE NOT THOU" DESPISE not thou thy father s ancient creed; Of his pure life it was the golden thread Whereon bright days were gathered, bead by bead, Till death laid low that dear and reverend head. From olden faith how many a glorious deed Hath lit the world; its blood-stained banner led The martyrs heavenward; yea, it was the seed Of knowledge, whence our modern freedom spread. Not always has man s credo proved a snare But a deliverance, a sign, a flame To purify the dense and pestilent air, RECOGNITION 55 Writing on pitiless heavens one pitying name; And neath the shadow of the dread eclipse It shines on dying eyes and pallid lips. "TO REST FROM WEARY WORK" To REST from weary work one day of seven; One day to turn our backs upon the world, Its soil wash from us, and strive on to Heaven Whereto we daily climb, but quick are hurled Down to the pit of human pride and sin. Help me, ye powers celestial! to come nigh; Ah, let me catch one little glimpse within The heavenly city, lest my spirit die. These be my guides, my messengers, my friends: Books of wise poets; the musician s art; The ocean whose deep music never ends; The silence of the forest s shadowy heart; Not less the brooding organ s solemn blare, And kneeling multitudes low-murmuring prayer. PART III RECOGNITION IN darkness of the visionary night This I beheld: Wide space and therein God, God who in dual nature doth abide Love, and the Loved One, Power and Beauty s self; Him even the spirit s eye might not transfix But sidelong gazed, fainting before the light. And forth from God did come, with dreadful thrill, And starry music like to million wires 56 THE CELESTIAL PASSION That shiver with the breathings of the dawn, Creation, boundless, bodiless, unformed, And white with trembling fire and light intense, And outward pulsings like the boreal flame. One mighty cloud it seemed, nor star, nor earth, Or like a nameless growth of the under-seas; Creation dumb, unconscious, yet alive With some deep, inward passion unexprest, And swift, concentric, never-ceasing urge Resolving gradual to one disk of fire. And as I looked, behold! the flying rim Grew separate from the center; this again Divided, and the whole still swift revolved, Ring within ring, and fiery wheel in wheel; Till, sudden or slow as chanced, the outmost edge Whirled into fragments, each a separate sun, With lesser globes attendant on its flight. These while I gazed turned dark with smoldering fire And, slow contracting, grew to solid orbs. Then knew I that this planetary world, Cradled in light, and curtained with the dawn And starry eve, was born; tho in itself Complete and perfect all, yet but a part And atom of the living universe. ii Unconscious still the child of the conscious God Creation, born of Beauty and of Love, Beauty the womb and mother of all worlds. But soon with breathless speed the new-made earth Swept near me where I watched the birth of things, Its greatening bulk eclipsing, star by star, Half the bright heavens. Then I beheld crawl forth Upon the earth s cool crust most wondrous forms HYMN 57 Wherein were hid, in transmutation strange, Sparks of the ancient, never-ending fire; Shapes moved not solely by exterior law But having will and motion of their own First sluggish and minute, then by degrees Monstrous, enorm. Then other forms more fine Streamed ceaseless on my sight, until at last, Rising and turning its slow gaze about Across the abysmal void, the mighty child Of the supreme, divine Omnipotence Creation, born of God, by Him begot, Conscious in MAN, no longer blind and dumb, Beheld and knew its father and its God. HYMN SUNG AT THE PRESENTATION OF THE OBELISK TO THE CITY OF NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 22, l88l GREAT God, to whom since time began The world has prayed and striven; Maker of stars, and earth, and man, To Thee our praise is given. Here, by this ancient Sign Of Thine own Light divine, We lift to Thee our eyes, Thou Dweller of the Skies; Hear us, O God in Heaven ! n Older than Nilus mighty flood Into the Mid-Sea pouring, Or than the sea, Thou God hast stood Thou God of our adoring! 58 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Waters and stormy blast Haste when Thou bid st them haste; Silent, and hid, and still, Thou sendest good and ill; Thy ways are past exploring. m In myriad forms, by myriad names, Men seek to bind and mold Thee; But Thou dost melt, like wax in flames, The cords that would enfold Thee. Who madest life and light, Bring st morning after night, Who all things didst create No majesty, nor state, Nor word, nor world can hold Thee ! IV Great God, to whom since time began The world has prayed and striven; Maker of stars, and earth, and man, To Thee our praise is given. Of suns Thou art the Sun, Eternal, holy One; Who us can help save Thou? To Thee alone we bow! Hear us, O God in heaven ! A THOUGHT ONCE, looking from a window on a land That lay in silence underneath the sun, A land of broad, green meadows, through which poured THE VOICE OF THE PINE 59 Two rivers, slowly widening to the sea, Thus as I looked, I know not how nor whence, Was born into my unexpectant soul That thought, late learned by anxious-witted man, The infinite patience of the Eternal Mind. THE VOICE OF THE PINE J T is night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs Is built where, high above, the pine-tree soughs. T is still and yet what woody noises loom Against the background of the silent gloom ! One well might hear the opening of a flower If day were husht as this. A mimic shower Just shaken from a branch, how large it sounded, As gainst our canvas roof its three drops bounded ! Across the rumpling waves the hoot-owl s bark Tolls forth the midnight hour upon the dark. What mellow booming from the hills doth come ? The mountain quarry strikes its mighty drum. Long had we lain beside our pine-wood fire, From things of sport our talk had risen higher. How frank and intimate the words of men When tented lonely in some forest glen ! No dallying now with masks, from whence emerges Scarce one true feature forth. The night-wind urges To straight and simple speech. So was our thought Audible ; secrets to the light were brought. The hid and spiritual hopes, the wild, Unreasoned longings that, from child to child, Mortals still cherish (tho with modern shame) To these, and things like these, we gave a name; And as we talked, the intense and resinous fire 60 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Lit up the towering boles, till nigh and nigher They gathered round, a ghostly company, Like beasts who seek to know what men may be. Then to our hemlock beds, but not to sleep For listening to the stealthy steps that creep About the tent, or falling branch, but most A noise was like the rustling of a host, Or like the sea that breaks upon the shore It was the pine-tree s murmur. More and more It took a human sound. These words I felt Into the skyey darkness float and melt : "Heardst thou these wanderers reasoning of a time When men more near the Eternal One shall climb? How like the new-born child, who cannot tell A mother s arm that wraps it warm and well! Leaves of His rose ; drops in His sea that flow, Are they, alas, so blind they may not know Here, in this breathing world of joy and fear, We can no nearer get to God than here." MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT THE mountain that the morn doth kiss Glad greets its shining neighbor; Lord! heed the homage of our bliss, The incense of our labor. Sharp smites the sun like burning rain, And field and flower languish; Hear, Lord ! the pleading of our pain, The passion of our anguish. THE SOUL 6 1 Now the long shadows eastward creep, The golden sun is setting; Take, Lord ! the worship of our sleep, The praise of our forgetting. "DAY UNTO DAY UTTERETH SPEECH" THE speech that day doth utter, and the night, Full oft to mortal ears it hath no sound; Dull are our eyes to read upon the ground What s written there; and stars are hid by light. So when the dark doth fall, awhile our sight Kens the unwonted orbs that circle round, Then quick in sleep our human sense is bound Speechless for us the starry heavens and bright. But when the day doth close there is one word That s writ amid the sunset s golden embers; And one at morn ; by them our hearts are stirred : Splendor of Dawn, and Evening that remembers; These are the rhymes of God; thus, line on line, Our souls are moved to thoughts that are divine. PART IV THE SOUL THREE messengers to me from heaven came And said : " There is a deathless human soul ; It is not lost, as is the fiery flame That dies into the undistinguished whole. Ah, no; it separate is, distinct as God Nor any more than He can it be killed; Then fearless give thy body to the clod, For naught can quench the light that once it filled! " 62 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Three messengers the first was human LOVE ; The second voice came crying in the night With strange and awful music from above; None who have heard that voice forget it quite; BIRTH is it named; the third, O, turn not pale! T was DEATH to the undying soul cried, Hail ! "WHEN LOVE DAWNED" WHEN love dawned on that world which is my mind, Then did the outer world wherein I went Suffer a sudden, strange transfigurement ; It w r as as if new sight were given the blind. Then where the shore to the wide sea inclined I watched with new eyes the new sun s ascent; My heart was stirred within me as I leant And listened to a voice in every wind. O purple sea ! O joy beyond control ! O land of love and youth ! O happy throng ! Were ye then real, or did ye only seem? Dear is that morning twilight of the soul, The mystery, the waking voice of song, For now I know it was not all a dream. LOVE AND DEATH i Now who can take from us what we have known - We that have looked into each other s eyes? Tho sudden night should blacken all the skies, The day is ours, and what the day has shown. What we have seen and been, hath not this grown Part of our very selves? We, made love-wise, FATHER AND CHILD 63 What power shall slay our living memories, And who shall take from us what is our own ? So, when a shade of the last parting fell, This thought gave peace, as he deep comfort hath Who, thirsting, drinks cool waters from a well. But soon I felt more near that fatal breath; More near he drew, till I his face could tell, Till then unseen, unknown I looked on Death. ii We know not where they tarry who have died; The gate wherein they entered is made fast; No living mortal hath seen one who past Hither, from out that darkness deep and wide. We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried: "Behold the butterfly, the seed that s cast!" Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! What man can look on Death unterrified? Who love can never die! They are a part Of all that lives beneath the summer sky; With the world s living soul their souls are one; Nor shall they in vast nature be undone And lost in the general life. Each separate heart Shall live, and find its own, and never die. FATHER AND CHILD BENEATH the deep and solemn midnight sky, At this last verge and boundary of time I stand, and listen to the starry chime That sounds to the inward ear, and will not die. Now do the thoughts that daily hidden lie Arise, and live in a celestial clime, Unutterable thoughts, most high, sublime, Crossed by one dread that frights mortality. 64 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Thus, as I muse, I hear my little child Sob in its sleep within the cottage near My own dear child ! Gone is that mortal doubt ! The Power that drew our lives forth from the wild Our Father is; we shall to Him be dear, Nor from His universe be blotted out! "BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE" BEYOND the branches of the pine The golden sun no more doth shine, But still the solemn afterglow Floods the deep heavens with light divine. The night-wind stirs the corn-field near, The gray moon turns to silver clear, And one by one the glimmering stars In the blue dome of heaven appear. Now do the mighty hosts of light Across the darkness take their flight; They rise above the eastern hill And silent journey through the night. And there beneath the starry zone, In the deep, narrow grave, alone, Rests all that mortal was of her, The purest spirit I have known. AN AUTUMN MEDITATION As the long day of cloud and storm and sun Declines into the dark and silent night, So past the old man s life from human gaze; AN AUTUMN MEDITATION 65 But not till sunset, full of lovely light And color that the day might not reveal, Bathed in soft gloom the landscape. Thus, kind Heaven, Let me, too, die when Autumn holds the year, Serene, with tender hues and bracing airs, And near me those I love; with no black thoughts, Nor dread of what may come ! Yea, when I die Let me not miss from nature the cool rush Of northern winds; let Autumn sunset skies Be golden; let the cold, clear blue of night Whiten with stars as now! then shall I fade From life to life pass on the year s full tide Into the swell and vast of the outer sea Beyond this narrow world. For Autumn days To me not melancholy are, but full Of joy and hope, mysterious and high; And with strange promise rife. Then it meseems Not failing is the year, but gathering fire Even as the cold increases. Grows a weed More richly here beside our mellow seas That is the Autumn s harbinger and pride. When fades the cardinal-flower, whose heart-red bloom Glows like a living coal upon the green Of the midsummer meadows, then how bright, How deepening bright, like mounting flame doth burn The goldenrod upon a thousand hills! This is the Autumn s flower, and to my soul A token fresh of beauty and of life, And life s supreme delight. 66 THE CELESTIAL PASSION When I am gone, Something of me I would might subtly pass Within these flowers twain of all the year; So might my spirit send a sudden stir Into the hearts of those who love these hills, These woods, these waves, and meadows by the sea. "CALL ME NOT DEAD" CALL me not dead when I, indeed, have gone Into the company of the everliving High and most glorious poets! Let thanksgiving Rather be made. Say: "He at last hath won Rest and release, converse supreme and wise, Music and song and light of immortal faces; To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places, He hath met Keats, and known him by his eyes. To-morrow (who can say?) Shakespeare may pass, And our lost friend just catch one syllable Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well; Or Milton; or Dante, looking on the grass Thinking of Beatrice, and listening still To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill." "EACH MOMENT HOLY IS" EACH moment holy is, for out from God Each moment flashes forth a human soul. Holy each moment is, for back to Him Some wandering soul each moment home returns. "WHEN TO SLEEP I MUST" WHEN to sleep I must Where my fathers sleep; THE EVENING STAR 67 When fulfilled the trust, And the mourners weep; When, tho free from rust, Sword hath lost its worth Let me bring to earth No dishonored dust. TO A DEPARTED FRIEND DEAR friend, who lovedst well this pleasant life! One year ago it is this very day Since thou didst take thy uncompanioned way Into the silent land, from out the strife And joyful tumult of the world. The knife Wherewith that sorrow cut us still doth stay, And we, to whom thou daily didst betray Thy gentle soul, with faith and worship rife, Love thee not less but more as time doth go And we too hasten toward that land unknown Where those most dear are gathering one by one. The power divine that here did touch thy heart Hath this withdrawn from thee, where now thou art ? Would thou indeed couldst tell what thou dost know ! "THE EVENING STAR" THE evening star trembles and hides from him Who fain would hold it with imperious stare; Yet, to the averted eye, lo! unaware It shines serene, no longer shy and dim. O, slow and sweet, its chalice to the brim Fills the leaf-shadowed grape with rich and rare Cool sunshine, caught from the white circling air! Home from his journey to the round world s rim, 68 THE CELESTIAL PASSION Through lonely lands, through cloudy seas and vext, At last the Holy Grail met Launfal s sight. So when my friend lost him who was her next Of soul, life of her life, all day the fight Raged with a dumb and pitiless God. Perplext She slept. Heaven sent its comfort in the night. LIFE GREAT Universe what dost thou with thy dead! Now thinking on the myriads that have gone Into a seeming blank oblivion, With here and there a most resplendent head, Eyes of such trancing sweetness, or so dread, That made the soul to quake who looked thereon, All utterly wiped out, dismissed, and done; Lost, speechless, viewless, and forever fled! Myriad on myriad, past the power to count ; Where are they, thou dumb Nature? Do they shine, Released from separate life, in summer airs, On moony seas, in dawns? or up the stairs Of spiritual being slowly mount And by degrees grow more and more divine? ii Ah, thou wilt never answer to our call, Thou Voiceless One naught in thee can be stirred, What tho the soul, like to a frightened bird, Dash itself wildly gainst thy mountain-wall. From Nature comes no answer, tho we fall In utmost anguish praying to be heard, Or peer below, or our brave spirits gird For steep and starry flight; t is silent all. UNDYING LIGHT 69 In vain to question save the heart of man, The throbbing human heart, that still doth keep Its truth, love, hope, its high and quenchless faith. By day, by night, when all else faints in sleep, "Naught is but Life," it cries; "there is no death; Life, Life doth only live, since Life began." THE FREED SPIRIT BROTHER of sorrow and mortality! Not always shall we chide the failing flesh That lets the netted soul to silence fly, Like a wild bird that breaks the treacherous mesh; Not always shall men curse in stormy sky The laughter and the fury of a Power That sees its chance-born children sink and die Hurling or death or life for dole or dower. Who deep his spirit searches can deny O nevermore, that life doth leave a trace Of something not all heavenly; tho we try Daily to turn toward Heaven a stedfast face. Even grief doth soil us with its poisonous breath Then free our spirits utterly, pure Death ! UNDYING LIGHT WHEN in the golden western summer skies A flaming glory starts, and slowly fades Through crimson tone on tone to deeper shades, There falls a silence, while the daylight dies Lingering but not with human agonies That tear the soul, or terror that degrades; A holy peace the failing world pervades, Nor any fear of that which onward lies. JO THE CELESTIAL PASSION For well, ah well, the darkened vale recalls A thousand times ten thousand vanished suns; Ten thousand sunsets from whose blackened walls Reflamed the white and living day that runs, In light which brings all beauty to the birth, Deathless forever round the ancient earth. O Thou the Lord and Maker of life and light ! Full heavy are the burdens that do weigh Our spirits earthward, as through twilight gray We journey to the end and rest of night; Tho well we know to the deep inward sight Darkness is but Thy shadow, and the day Where Thou art never dies, but sends its ray Through the wide universe with restless might. O Lord of Light, steep Thou our souls in Thee ! That when the daylight trembles into shade, And falls the silence of mortality, And all is done, we shall not be afraid, But pass from light to light; from earth >s dull gleam Into the very heart and heaven of our dream. LYRICS LYRICS PART I ODE I AM the spirit of the morning sea; I am the awakening and the glad surprise; I fill the skies With laughter and with light. Not tears, but jollity At birth of day brim the strong man-child s eyes. Behold the white Wide threefold beams that from the hidden sun Rise swift and far One where Orion keeps His armed watch, and one That to the midmost starry heaven upleaps; The third blots out the firm-fixt Northern Star. I am the wind that shakes the glittering wave, Hurries the snowy spume along the shore And dies at last in some far, murmuring cave. My voice thou hearest in the breaker s roar That sound which never failed since time began, And first around the world the shining tumult ran. I light the sea and wake the sleeping land. My footsteps on the hills make music, and my hand Plays like a harper s on the wind-swept pines. 74 LYRICS With the wind and the day I follow round the world away ! away ! Wide over lake and plain my sunlight shines And every wave and every blade of grass Doth know me as I pass; And me the western sloping mountains know, and me The far-off, golden sea. sea, whereon the passing sun doth lie ! O man, who watchest by that golden sea! Grieve not, O, grieve not thou, but lift thine eye And see me glorious in the sunset sky! in 1 love not the night Save when the stars are bright, Or when the moon Fills the white air with silence like a tune. Yea, even the night is mine When the Northern Lights outshine, And all the wild heavens throb in ecstasy divine ; Yea, mine deep midnight, tho the black sky lowers, When the sea burns white and breaks on the shore in starry showers. iv I am the laughter of the new-born child On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled. And I all sweet first things that are: First songs of birds, not perfect as at last, Broken and incomplete, But sweet, O, sweet! And I the first faint glimmer of a star To the wreckt ship that tells the storm is past; The first keen smells and stirrings of the Spring; A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER 75 First snowflakes, and first May-flowers after snow; The silver glow Of the new moon s ethereal ring; The song the morning stars together made, And the first kiss of lovers under the first June shade. My sword is quick, my arm is strong to smite In the dread joy and fury of the fight. I am with those who win, not those who fly; With those who live I am, not those who die. Who die? Nay, nay, that word Where I am is unheard; For I am the spirit of youth that cannot change, Nor cease, nor suffer woe; And I am the spirit of beauty that doth range Through natural forms and motions, and each show Of outward loveliness. With me have birth All gentleness and joy in all the earth. Raphael knew me, and showed the world my face; Me Homer knew, and all the singing race For I am the spirit of light, and life, and mirth. A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER NOT yet the orchard lifted Its cloudy bloom to the sky, Nor through the dim twilight drifted The whippoorwilPs low cry; The gray rock had not made Of the vine its glistening kirtle; Nor shook in the locust shade The purple bells of the "myrtle." 76 LYRICS Not yet up the chimney-hollow Was heard in the darkling night The boom and whir of the swallow, And the twitter that follows the flight; Before the foamy whitening Of the water below the mill; Ere yet the summer lightning Shone red at the edge of the hill; In the time of sun and showers, Of skies half black, half clear; Twixt melting snows and flowers; At the poise of the flying year; When woods flusht pink and yellow In dreams of leafy June; And days were keen or mellow Like tones in a changing tune; Before the birds had broken Forth in their song divine, O, then the word was spoken That made my darling mine. A MIDSUMMER SONG O, father s gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie s after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will : " Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn ! O, where s Polly?" ON THE WILD ROSE TREE 77 From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: " Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn ! O, where s Polly?" Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. Within the farmer s meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose. But Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn! O, where s Polly? How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter The farmer s wife is listening now and wonders what s the matter. O, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. But Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn I O, where s Polly? "ON THE WILD ROSE TREE" ON the wild rose tree Many buds there be, Yet each sunny hour Hath but one perfect flower. 78 LYRICS Thou who wouldst be wise Open wide thine eyes; In each sunny hour Pluck the one perfect flower ! "BEYOND ALL BEAUTY IS THE UNKNOWN GRACE" BEYOND all beauty is the unknown grace; Above all bliss a higher; and above The lovingest is a more loving love That shows not the still anguish of its face. Than death there is a deathlier. Brief space Behind despair the blacker shadows rove; Beneath all life a deeper life doth move : So, friends of mine, when empty is my place, For me no more grass grows, dead leaves are stirred, And still the songs that once you loved to hear; True friends whom well I thank for every word Of heart-help, praise or blame, as you draw near I pray that mid your tears this may be heard: "For what he never did he is most dear." THE VIOLET A VIOLET lay in the grass, A tear in its golden eye; And it said: "Alas and alas! The night is over and gone, Another day is anigh, And I am alone, alone ! There is none to care if I die, There is none to be glad that I live; The lovers they pass me by THE VIOLET 79 And never a glance they give. And I could love so well, so well ! If one would but tarry and tell A tale that was told to me only : My lover might go his ways, But through all the nights and the days I should never again be lonely! " Then sudden there fell a look Into that violet s heart. It lifted its face with a start; It arose; it trembled and shook. "At last, O, at last!" it cried; Down drooped its head, and it died. Is God in Heaven! Is the light Of the moons, and the stars, and the suns, His or the Evil One s, Is He cruel, or mad, or right! The lily that grew by the wall, Its heart was heavy with bliss. In the night it heard a call; It listened, it felt a kiss; Then a loving Wind did fall On its breast, and shiver with gladness: The morning brought love s madness To light, and the lover fled. But the eyes that burned in his head Shot love through each and all, For the lily that bloomed by the wall Shone sweet in every place, In the earth, and the sky above, And the lover saw never the face Of the flower that died of love. 8o LYRICS Hush! Hush I Let no sorrow be spoken/ Tho it perish, no pity shall flout it. Better to die heart-broken Of love than to live without it I THE YOUNG POET WHEN I am dead and buried, then There will be mourning among men. I hear one musing on my dust : "How hard he fought to win his crust." And one, "He was too sensitive In this cold-wintered world to live." Another, weeping, "Ah, how few So gentle-hearted and so true." "I saw him only once, and yet I think I never shall forget The strange, sad look in those young eyes," Another says, and then with wise And solemn-shaking head "No doubt The hot heart burned that frail frame out." ii Good friends, a discount on your grief! A little present help were worth More than a sorrow-stricken earth When I am but a withered leaf. An outstretched hand were better to me Than your glib graveyard sympathy. You need not pity and rhyme and paint me, You need not weep for, and sigh for, and saint me After you ve starved me driven me dead. Friends! do you hear? What I want is bread! A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN 8 1 A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN WHEN late in summer the streams run yellow, Burst the bridges and spread into bays; When berries are black and peaches are mellow, And hills are hidden by rainy haze; When the goldenrod is golden still, But the heart of the sunflower is darker and sadder; When the corn -is in stacks on the slope of the hill, And slides o er the path the striped adder; When butterflies flutter from clover to thicket, Or wave their wings on the drooping leaf; When the breeze comes shrill with the call of the cricket, Grasshoppers rasp, and rustle of sheaf; When high in the field the fern-leaves wrinkle, And brown is the grass where the mowers have mown ; When low in the meadow the cow-bells tinkle, And small brooks crinkle o er stock and stone. When heavy and hollow the robin s whistle And shadows are deep in the heat of noon; When the air is white with the down o the thistle, And the sky is red with the harvest moon; O, then be chary, young Robert and Mary, No time let slip, not a moment wait! If the fiddle would play it must stop its tuning, And they who would wed must be done with their mooning; So, let the churn rattle, see well to the cattle, And pile the wood by the barn-yard gate! 82 LYRICS THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY i MY chimney is builded On a hill by the sea, At the edge of a wood That the sunset has gilded Since time was begun And the earth first was done: For mine and for me And for you, John Burroughs, My friend old and good, At the edge of a wood On a hill by the sea My chimney is builded. n My chimney gives forth All its heat to the north, While its right arm it reaches Toward the meadows and beaches, And its left it extends To its pine-tree friends. All its heat to the north My chimney gives forth. in My chimney is builded Of red and gray granite: Of great split boulders Are its thighs and its shoulders; Its mouth try to span it. T is a nine-foot block The shelf that hangs over THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY 83 The stout hearth-rock. Then the lines they upswell Like a huge church-bell, Or a bellying sail In a stiff south gale When the ship rolls well, With a blue sky above her. IV My chimney come view it, And I ll tell you, John Burroughs, What is built all through it : First the derrick s shrill creak, That perturbed the still air With a cry of despair. The lone traveler who past At the fall of the night If he saw not its mast Stood still with affright At a sudden strange sound Hark! a woman s wild shriek? Or the baying of a hound? Then the stone-hammer s clink And the drill s sharp tinkle, And bird-songs that sprinkle Their notes through the wood (With pine odors scented), On the swift way to drink At the spring cold and good That bubbles neath the stone Where the red chieftain tented In the days that are gone. 84 LYRICS Yes, twixt granite and mortar Many songs, long or shorter, Are imprisoned in the wall; And when red leaves shall fall, Coming home, all in herds, From the air to the earth, When I have my heart s desire, And we sit by the hearth In the glow of the fire, You and I, John of Birds, We shall hear as they call From the gray granite wall; You shall name one and all. There s the crow s caw-cawing From the pine-tree s hight, And the cat-bird s sawing, The hissing of the adder That climbed the rock ladder, And the song of Bob White; The robin s loud clatter, The chipmunk s chatter, And the mellow-voiced bell That the cuckoo strikes well ; Yes, betwixt the stones and in There is built a merry din. But not all bright and gay Are the songs we shall hear; For as day turns to gray Comes a voice low and clear Whippoorwill sounds his wail Over hill, over dale, Till the soul fills with fright. THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY 85 T is the bird that was heard On the fields drenched with blood By the dark southern flood When they died in the night. But you cannot split granite Howsoe er you may plan it, Without bringing blood; (There s a drop of mine there On that block four-square). Certain oaths, I m aware, Sudden, hot, and not good (May Heaven cleanse the guilt !) In these stone walls are built ; With the wind through the pine-wood blowing, The creak of tree on tree, Child-laughter, and the lowing Of the homeward-driven cattle, The sound of wild birds singing, Of steel on granite ringing, The memory of battle, And tales of the roaring sea. VI For my chimney was builded By a Plymouth County sailor, An old North Sea whaler. In the warm noon spell T was good to hear him tell Of the great September blow A dozen years ago : How at dawn of the day The wind began to play, 86 LYRICS Till it cut the waves flat Like the brim of your hat. There was no sea about, But it blew straight out Till the ship lurcht over; But t was quick to recover, When, all of a stroke, The hurricane broke. Great heavens! how it roared, And how the rain poured; The thirty-fathom chain Dragged out all in vain. "What next?" the captain cried To the mate by his side; Then Tip Ryder he replied: " Fetch the ax no delay Cut the mainmast away; If you want to save the ship Let the mainmast rip!" But another said, "Wait!" And they did till too late. On her beam-ends she blew, In the sea half the crew Struggling back through the wrack, There to cling day and night. Not a sail heaves in sight; And, the worst, one in thirst (Knows no better, the poor lad!) Drinks salt water and goes mad. Eighty hours blown and tost, Five good sailors drowned and lost, And the rest brought to shore; Some to sail as before; A RIDDLE OF LOVERS 87 " Not Tip Ryder, if he starves Building chimneys, building wharves." VII Now this was the manner Of the building of the chimney. ( T is a good old-timer, As you, friend John, will own.) Old man Vail cut the stone; William Ryder was the builder; Stanford White was the planner; And the owner and rhymer Is Richard Watson Gilder. "A WORD SAID IN THE DARK" A WORD said in the dark And hands prest, for a token; "Now, little maiden, mark The word that you have spoken; Be not your promise broken!" His lips upon her cheek Felt tears among their kisses; "O, pardon I bespeak If for my doubting this is! Now all my doubting ceases." A RIDDLE OF LOVERS OF my fair lady s lovers there were two Who loved her more than all; nor she, nor they Guessed which of these loved better, for one way This had of loving, that another knew. 88 LYRICS One round her neck brave arms of empire threw And covered her with kisses where she lay; The other sat apart, nor did betray Sweet sorrow at that sight; but rather drew His pleasure of his lady through the soul And sense of this one. So there truly ran Two separate loves through one embrace; the whole This lady had of both, when one began To clasp her close, and win her dear lips goal. Now read my lovers riddle if you can. THE DARK ROOM (A PARABLE) A MAIDEN sought her love in a dark room, So early had she yearned from yearning sleep, So hard it was from her true love to keep, And blind she went through that all-silent gloom, Like one who wanders weeping in a tomb. Heavy her heart, but her light ringers leap With restless grasp and question in that deep Unanswering void. Now when a hand did loom At last, how swift her warm impassioned face Prest gainst the black and solemn-yielding air, As near more near she groped to that bright place, And seized the hand, and drowned it with her hair, And bent her body to his fierce embrace, And knew what joy was in the darkness there. n Great God! the arms wherein that maiden fell Were not her lover s; I am her lover I, WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR 89 Who sat here in the shadows silently, Thinking at last the longed-for miracle ! Thinking to me she moved, and all was well. She saw me not, yet dimly could descry That beautiful hand of his, and with a sigh Sank on his fair and treacherous breast. The spell Of the Evil One was on me. All in vain I strove to speak my parched lips were dumb. See! see! the wan and whitening window-pane! See, in the night, the awful morning bloom ! Too late she will know all ! Heaven ! send thy rain Of death, nor let the sun of wakening come ! BEFORE SUNRISE THE winds of morning move and sing; The western stars are lingering; In the pale east one planet still Shines large above King Philip s hill; And near, in gold against the blue, The old moon, in its arms the new. Lo, the deep waters of the bay Stir with the breath of hurrying day. Wake, loved one, wake and look with me Across the narrow, dawn-lit sea! Such beauty is not wholly mine Till thou, dear heart, hast made it thine. "THE WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR" THE wind from out the west is blowing; The homeward- wandering cows are lowing; go LYRICS Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear The woods that bring the sunset near. When o er wide seas the sun declines, Far off its fading glory shines, Far off, sublime, and full of fear, The pine-woods bring the sunset near. This house that looks to east, to west, This, dear one, is our home, our rest; Yonder the stormy sea, and here The woods that bring the sunset near. SUNSET FROM THE TRAIN BUT then the sunset smiled, Smiled once and turned toward dark, Above the distant, wavering line of trees that filed Along the horizon s edge; Like hooded monks that hark Through evening air The call to prayer ; Smiled once, and faded slow, slow, slow away; When, like a changing dream, the long cloud-wedge, Brown-gray, Grew saffron underneath and, ere I knew, The interspace, green-blue The whole, illimitable, western, skyey shore, The tender, human, silent sunset smiled once more. ii Thee, absent loved one, did I think on now, Wondering if thy deep brow AFTER SORROW S NIGHT 91 In dreams of me were lifted to the skies, Where, by our far sea-home, the sunlight dies; If thou didst stand, alone, Watching the day pass slowly, slow, as here, But closer and more dear, Beyond the meadow and the long, familiar line Of blackening pine; When lo! that second smile; dear heart, it was thine own. "AFTER SORROW S NIGHT" AFTER sorrow s night Dawned the morning bright. In dewy woods I heard A golden-throated bird, And "Love, love, love," it sang, And "Love, love, love." Evening shadows fell In our happy dell. From glimmering woods I heard A golden-throated bird, And "Love, love, love," it sang, And "Love, love, love." O, the summer night Starry was and bright. In the dark woods I heard A golden-throated bird, And "Love, love, love," it sang, And "Love, love, love." Q2 LYRICS A NOVEMBER CHILD NOVEMBER winds, blow mild On this new-born child! Spirit of the autumn wood, Make her gentle, make her good! Still attend her, And befriend her, Fill her days with warmth and color; Keep her safe from winter s dolor. On thy bosom Hide this blossom Safe from summer s rain and thunder! When those eyes of light and wonder Tire at last of earthly places Full of years and full of graces, Then, O, then Take her back to heaven again! AT NIGHT THE sky is dark, and dark the bay below Save where the midnight city s pallid glow Lies like a lily white On the black pool of night. O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay, To where the eddying tide Strikes hard the city s side ! For there, between the river and the sea, Beneath that glow, the lily s heart to me, A sleeping mother mild, And by her breast a child! NINE YEARS Q3 CRADLE SONG IN the embers shining bright A garden grows for thy delight, With roses yellow, red, and white. But, O my child, beware, beware ! Touch not the blossoms blowing there, For every rose a thorn doth bear. "NINE YEARS" NINE years to heaven had flown, And June came, with June s token The wild rose that had known A maiden s silence broken. T was thus the lover spoke, And thus she leaned and listened (Below, the billows broke, The blue sea shook and glistened) : "We have been happy, Love, Through bright and stormy weather, Happy all hope above, For we have been together. "To meet, to love, to wed, Joy without stint or measure, This was our lot," he said, "To find untouched our treasure; "But had some blindfold fate Bound each unto another To turn from Heaven s gate, Each heart-throb hide and smother! 94 LYRICS " O dear and faithful heart, If thus had we been fated; To meet, to know, to part Too early, falsely, mated! " Were this our bitter plight, Ah, could we have dissembled?" Her cheek turned pale with fright; She hid her face, and trembled. "BACK FROM THE DARKNESS TO THE LIGHT AGAIN" "BACK from the darkness to the light again!" Not from the darkness, Love, for hadst thou lain Within the shadowy portal of the tomb, Thy light had warmed the darkness into bloom. PART II FATE I FLUNG a stone into a grassy field ; How many tiny creatures there may yield (I thought) their petty lives through that rude shock! To me a pebble, t is to them a rock Gigantic, cruel, fraught with sudden death. Perhaps it crusht an ant, perhaps its breath Alone tore down a white and glittering palace, And the small spider damns the giant s malice Who wrought the wreck blasted his pretty art ! Who knows what day some saunterer, light of heart, An idle wanderer through the fields of space, Large-limbed, big-brained, to whom our puny race FATE 95 Seems small as insects, one whose footstep jars On some vast world-orb islanded by stars, May fling a stone and crush our earth to bits, And all that men have builded by their wits? "Ah, what a loss!" you say; "our bodies gey But not our temples, statues, and the glow. Of glorious canvases; and not the pages Our poets have illumed through myriad ages. What boots the insect s loss ? Another day . Will see the selfsame ant-hill and the play . Of light on dainty web the same. But blot All human art from this terrestrial plot, Something indeed would pass that nevermore Would light the universe as once before!" The spider s work is not original, You hold, but what of ours? I fear that all. We do is just the same thing over and over. Take Life: you have the woman and her lover;. T is old as Eden ; naught is new in that ! Take Building, and you reach ere long the flat Nile desert sands, by way of France, Rome, Greece. And there is poetry our bards increase In numbers, not in sweetness, not in force, Since he, sublimest poet of this globe, Forgotten now, poured forth the chant of Job Where Man with the Eternal holds discourse. No, no! The forms may change, but even they Come round again. Could we but truly scan it, We d find in the heavens some little, busy planet, Whence all we are was borrowed. If to-day The imagined giant flung his ponderous stone, And we and all our far-stretched schemes were done, His were a scant remorse and short-lived trouble,. Like mine for those small creatures in the stubble.. 96 LYRICS "WE MET UPON THE CROWDED WAY" i WE met upon the crowded way; We spoke and past. How bright the day Turned from that moment, for a light Did shine from her to make it bright ! And then I asked : Can such as she From life be blotted utterly ? The thoughts from those clear eyes that dawn Down to the ground can they be drawn ? ii Among the mighty who can find One that hath a perfect mind? Angry, jealous, curst by feuds, They own the sway of fatal moods; But thou dost perfect seem to me In thy divine simplicity. Tho from the heavens the stars be wrenched, Thy light, dear maid, shall not be quenched. Gentle, and true, and pure, and free The gods will not abandon thee! THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE IN Heaven s happy bowers There blossom two flowers, One with fiery glow And one as white as snow; While lo! before them stands, With pale and trembling hands, A spirit who must choose One, and one refuse. THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE 97 n O, tell me of these flowers That bloom in heavenly bowers, One with fiery glow, And one as white as snow ! And tell me who is this In Heaven s holy bliss Who trembles and who cries Like a mortal soul that dies! in These blossoms two, Wet with heavenly dew The Gentle Heart is one, And one is Beauty s own; And the spirit here that stands, With pale and trembling hands, Before to-morrow s morn Will be a child new-born, Will be a mortal maiden With earthly sorrows laden; But of these shining flowers That bloom in heavenly bowers, To-day she still may choose One, and one refuse. IV Will she pluck the crimson flower And win Beauty s dower? Will she choose the better part And gain the Gentle Heart? Awhile she weeping waits Within those pearly gates; Alas! the mortal maiden LYRICS With earthly sorrow laden; Her tears afresh they start She has chosen the Gentle Heart. v And now the spirit goes, In her breast the snow-white rose. When hark ! a voice that calls Within the garden walls: "Thou didst choose the better part, Thou hast won the Gentle Heart Lo, now to thee is given The red rose of Heaven." A WOMAN S THOUGHT I AM a woman therefore I may not Call to him, cry to him, Fly to him, Bid him delay not ! Then when he comes to me, I must sit quiet; Still as a stone All silent ajid cold. If my heart riot Crush and defy it ! Should I grow bold, Say one dear thing to him, All my life fling to him, Cling to him What to atone Is enough for my sinning! This were the cost to me, This were my winning That he were lost to me. THE RIVER INN 99 Not as a lover At last if he part from me, Tearing my heart from me, Hurt beyond cure Calm and demure Then must I hold me, In myself fold me, Lest he discover; Showing no sign to him By look of mine to him What he has been to me How my heart turns to him, Follows him, yearns to him, Prays him to love me. Pity me, lean to me, Thou God above me! THE RIVER INN THE night was black and drear Of the last day of the year. Two guests to the river inn Came, from the wide world s bound One with clangor and din, The other without a sound. " Now hurry, servants and host ! Get the best that your cellars boast. White be the sheets and fine, And the fire on the hearthstone bright; Pile the wood, and spare not the wine, And call him at morning-light." 100 LYRICS " But where is the silent guest ? In what chamber shall she rest? In this! Should she not go higher? T is damp, and the fire is gone." " You need not kindle the fire, You need not call her at dawn." Next morn he sallied forth On his journey to the North. O, bright the sunlight shone Through boughs that the breezes stir; But for her was lifted a stone Under the churchyard fir. THE HOMESTEAD HERE stays the house, here stay the selfsame places, Here the white lilacs and the buttonwoods; Here the dark pine-groves, there the river-floods, And there the threading brook that interlaces Green meadow-bank with meadow-bank the same. The melancholy nightly chorus came Long, long ago from the same pool, and yonder Stark poplars lift in the same twilight air Their ancient lonelinesses; nearer, fonder, The black-heart cherry-tree s gaunt branches bare Rasp on the same old window where I ponder. ii And we, the only living, only pass; We come and go, whither and whence we know not. From birth to bound the same house keeps, alas! New lives as gently as the old; there show not AT FOUR SCORE IOI Among the haunts that each had thought his own The looks that partings bring to human faces. The black-heart there, that heard my earliest moan, And yet shall hear my last, like all these places I love so well, unloving lives from child To child; from morning joy to evening sorrow Untouched by joy, by anguish undented; All one the generations gone, and new; All one dark yesterday and bright to-morrow; To the old tree s insensate sympathy All one the morning and the evening dew My far, forgotten ancestor and I. AT FOUR SCORE THIS is the house she was born in, full four-score years ago, And here she is living still, bowed and ailing, but clinging Still to this wonted life like an ancient and blasted oak- tree, Whose dying roots yet clasp the earth with an iron hold. This is the house she was born in, and yonder across the bay Is the home her lover builded, for her and for him and their children ; Daily she watched it grow, from dawn to the evening twilight, As it rose on the orchard hill, mid the springtime showers and bloom. There is the village church, its steeple over the trees Rises and shows the clock she has watched since the day it was started 102 LYRICS O, many a year ago, how many she cannot remember. Now solemnly over the water rings out the evening hour. And there in that very church, tho , alas, how bediz ened, and changed! They ve painted it up, she says, in their queer, new, modern fashion, There on a morning in June, she gave her hand to her husband ; Her heart it was his (she told him) long years and years before. Now here she sits at the window, gazing out on steeple and hill; All but the houses are gone, the church, and the trees, and the houses; All, all have gone long since, parents, and husband, and children ; And herself she thinks, at times, she too has vanished and gone. No, it cannot be she who stood in the church that morn ing in June, Nor she who felt at her breast the lips of a child in the darkness ; But hark in the gathering dusk comes a low, quick moan of anguish Ah, it is she indeed, who has lived, who has loved, and lost. For she thinks of a wintry night, when her last was taken away, Forty years this very month, the last, the fairest, the dearest ; JOHN CARMAN 103 All gone ah, yes, it is she who has loved, who has lost, and suffered, She and none other it is, left alone in her sorrow and pain. Still with its sapless roots, that stay tho the branches have dropt Have withered, and fallen, and gone, their strength and their glory forgotten; Still with the life that remains, silent, and faithful, and stedfast, Through sunshine and bending storm clings the oak to its mother-earth. JOHN CARMAN i JOHN CARMAN of Carmeltown Worked hard through the livelong day; He drove his awl and he snapt his thread And he had but little to say. He had but little to say Except to a neighbor s child; Three summers old she was, and her eyes Had a look that was deep and wild. Her hair was heavy and brown Like clouds in a starry night. She came and sat by the cobbler s bench And his soul was filled with delight. No kith nor kin had he And he never went gadding about; A strange, shy man, the people said; They could not make him out. 104 LYRICS And some of them shook their heads And would never tell what they d heard. But he drove his awl and snapt his thread And he always kept his word; And the little child that knew him Better than all the rest, She threw her arms around his neck And went to sleep on his breast. One day in that dreadful summer When children died by the score, John Carman glanced from his work and saw Her mother there at the door. He knew by the look on her face And his own turned deathly white; He rose from his bench and followed her out And watched by the child that night. He tended her day and night; He watched by her night and day. He saw the cruel pain in her eyes; He saw her lips turn gray. H The day that the child was buried John Carman went back to his last, And the neighbors said that for weeks and weeks Not a word his clencht lips past. "He takes it hard," they gossiped, "Poor man, he s lacking in wit"; "I ll drop in to-day," said Deacon Gray, "And comfort him up a bit." JOHN CARMAN 105 So Deacon Gray dropt in With a kind and neighborly air, And before he left he knelt on the floor And wrestled with God in prayer. And he said : " O Lord, Thou hast stricken This soul in its babyhood; In Thy own way, we beseech and pray, Bring forth from evil good." in That night the fire-bells rang And the flames shot up to the sky, And into the street as pale as a sheet The town-folk flock and cry. The bells ring loud and long, The flames leap high and higher, The rattling engines come too late The old First Church is on fire ! And lo and behold in the crimson glare They see John Carman stand A look of mirth on his iron lips And a blazing torch in his hand. "You say it was He who killed her" (His voice had a fearful sound) : "I d have you know, who love Him so, I ve burned His house to the ground." John Carman died in prison, In the madman s cell, they say; And from his crime, that I ve told in rhyme, Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray. 106 LYRICS DRINKING SONG THOU who lov st and art forsaken, Didst believe and wert mistaken, From thy dream thou wilt not waken When Death thee shall call. Like are infidel, believer, The deceived, and the deceiver, When the grave hides all. What if thou be saint or sinner, Crooked graybeard, straight beginner, Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, When Death thee shall call. All alike are rich and richer, King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher, When the grave hides all. Hope not thou to live hereafter In men s memories and laughter, When, twixt hearth and ringing rafter, Death thee shall call. For we both shall be forgotten, Friend, when thou and I are rotten And the grave hides all. THE VOYAGER I "FRIEND, why goest thou forth When ice-hills drift from the north And crush together?" "The Voice that me doth call Heeds not the ice-hill s fall, Nor wind, nor weather." A LAMENT 107 " But, friend, the night is black ; Behold the driving rack And wild seas under!" " My straight and narrow bark Fears not the threatening dark, Nor storm, nor thunder." in "But O, thy children dear! Thy wife, she is not here, I haste to bring her!" "No, no, it is too late! Hush, hush! I may not wait, Nor weep, nor linger." IV "Hark! Who is he that knocks With slow and dreadful shocks The walls to sever?" " It is my Master s call, I go, whate er befall; Farewell forever." A LAMENT FOR THE DEAD OF THE JEANNETTE BROUGHT HOME ON THE FRISIA I O GATES of ice ! long have ye held our loved ones. Ye Cruel ! how could ye keep from us them for whom our hearts yearned our dear ones, our fathers, our children, our brothers, our lovers? 108 LYRICS Cold and Sleet, Darkness and Ice ! hard have ye held them; ye would not let them go. Their hands ye have bound fast; their feet ye have detained; and well have ye laid hold upon the hearts of our loved ones. O silent Arctic Night ! thou hast wooed them from us. O Secret of the white and unknown world ! too strong hast thou been for us; we were as nothing to thee; thou hast drawn them from us; thou wouldst not let them go. The long day past; thou wouldst not let them go. The long, long night came and went ; thou wouldst not let them go. O thou insatiate ! What to thee are youth, and life, and hope, and love? For thou art Death, not Life; thou art Despair, not Hope. Naught to thee the rush of youthful blood; naught to thee the beauty and strength of our loved ones. The breath of their bodies was not sweet to thee ; they loved thee, and thou lovedst not them. They followed thee, thou didst not look upon them; but still, O thou inviolate ! still did they follow thee. Thee did they follow through storm, through perils of the ice, and of the unknown darkness. The sharp spears of the frost they feared not; the ter rors of death they feared not. For thee, for thee, for thee, not for us; only that they might look upon thy face! All these they endured for thee; the thought of us whom yet they loved, this also they endured for thee. For thou art beautiful, beyond the beauty of woman. In thy hair are the stars of night. Thou wrappest about thee garments of fire that burn not, and are never quenched ; When thou movest they are moved; when thou breathest they tremble. A LAMENT IOQ Yea, awful art thou in thy beauty; with white fingers beckoning in mists and shadows of the frozen sea; draw ing to thee the hearts of heroes. H Long, long have they tarried in thy gates, O North ! But now thou hast given them up. Lo, they come to us once more our beloved, our only ones ! O dearest, why have ye stayed so long? With ye, night and day have come and gone, but with us there was night only. But no, we will not reproach ye, hearts of our hearts, dearest and best; our fathers, our children, our brothers, our lovers! Come back to us ! Behold our arms are open for you ; ye are ours ; ye have returned unto us ; ye shall never go hence again. But why are ye silent, why do ye not stir, why do ye not speak to us, O beloved ones? White are your cheeks like snow ; your eyes they do not look upon us. So long ye have been gone, and is this your joy to see us once more? Lo ! do we not welcome ye ? Are not bur souls glad ? Do not our tears, long kept, fall upon your faces ? Or do ye but sleep well, after those hard and weary labors? O, now awaken, for ye shall take rest and plea sure; here are your homes and kindred! Listen, beloved : here is your sister, here is your brother, here is your lover! in They will not hearken to our voices. They are still; their eyes look not upon us. 1 10 LYRICS O insatiate ! O Secret of the white and unknown world, cruel indeed thou art! Thou hast sent back to us our best beloved; their bodies thou hast rendered up, but their spirits thou hast taken away from us forever. In life thou didst hold them from us and in death, in death they are thine. NEW YORK, February 20, 1884. ILL TIDINGS (THE STUDIO CONCERT) IN the long studio from whose towering walls Greek Phidias beams, and Angelo appalls, Eager the listening, downcast faces throng While violins their piercing tones prolong. At times I know not if I see, or hear, Yon statue s smile, or some not sorrowing tear Down-falling on the surface of the stream That music pours across my waking dream. Ah, is it then a dream that while repeat Those chords, like strokes of silver-shod light feet, And the great Master s music marches on I hear the horses of the Parthenon? But all to-day seems vague, unreal, far, With fear and discord in the dearest strain, For neath yon slowly-sinking western star One that I love lies on her bed of pain. A NEW WORLD "I KNOW," he said, " The thunder and the lightning have past by And all the earth is black, and burned, and dead; CONGRESS III But, friend, the grass will grow again, the flowers Again will bloom, the summer birds will sing, And the all-healing sun will shine once more." "Blind prophecy," she answered in her woe. Yet still, as time wore on, the prophet s words Came true, but not all true. (So shall it be With all who here may suffer mortal loss.) Ere long the grass, the flowers, the birds, the sun Once more made bright the bleak and desolate earth; They came once more, those joys of other days; She felt them, moved among them, and was glad. Glad glad ! O mocking word ! They came once more, But not the same to her. Familiar they As a remembered dream, and beautiful But changed, all changed, the whole world changed for ever. PART III CONGRESS: 1878 T WAS in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, Were heard in all the dark, distracted land; And grave men questioned : " Can the State withstand The shock and strain to come? O, will she keep Firm her four walls, should the wild creature leap To ruin and ravish? Will her pillars planned By the great dead, tremble to either hand? The dead ! would heaven they might awake from sleep ! " Haply (I thought) our Congress still may hold One voice of power when lo ! upon the blast A sound like jackals ravening to and fro. Great God ! And has it come to this at last ? Such noise, such shame, where once, not long ago, The pure and wise their living thoughts outrolled. 112 LYRICS THE CITY COME, Spirit of Song! true, faithful friend of mine! Oft hast thou served me in life s warfare rough; No knight of old found lance more keen or tough At tourney or in dreadful battle-line: Come, tho they own thee not, the Muses Nine; Strike one more blow, the past is not enough, Not now for Love s sake, nor in Fate s rebuff, Nor for Provence and all its golden wine: But be one iron scorn for this huge town Where love of God has turned to lust of gold, And civic pride in private greed grows cold; Where speculation stains the judge s gown, And where, in new-born broods, foul beasts of prey Ravage the treasure-house by night and day. REFORM i O, HOW shall I help to right the world that is going wrong ! And what can I do to hurry the promised time of peace ! The day of work is short and the night of sleep is long; And whether to pray or preach, or whether to sing a song, To plow in my neighbor s field, or to seek the golden fleece, Or to sit with my hands in my lap, and wish that ill would cease ! ii I think, sometimes, it were best just to let the Lord alone; I am sure some people forget He was here before they came; Tho they say it is all for His glory, t is a good deal more for their own, AT GARFIELD S GRAVE 113 That they peddle their petty schemes, and blate and babble and groan. I sometimes think it were best, and a man were little to blame, Should he pass on his silent way nor mix with the noisy shame. AT GARFIELD S GRAVE (SEPTEMBER, 1881) ALL summer long the people knelt And listened at the sick man s door : Each pang which that pale sufferer felt Throbbed through the land from shore to shore; And as the all-dreaded hour drew nigh, What breathless watching, night and day! What tears, what prayers! Great God on high! Have we forgotten how to pray! O broken-hearted, widowed one, Forgive us if we press too near! Dead is our husband, father, son, For we are all one household here. And not alone here by the sea, And not in his own land alone, Are tears of anguish shed with thee In this one loss the world is one. EPITAPH A man not perfect, but of heart So high, of such heroic rage, That even his hopes became a part Of earth s eternal heritage. 114 LYRICS MEMORIAL DAY i SHE saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, The flags that proudly waved; she heard the bugles call ing; She saw the tattered banners falling About the broken staffs, as one by one The remnant of the mighty army past; And at the last Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done. ii She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet As the long line swept round the crowded square; She heard the incessant hum That filled the warm and blossom-scented air The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum, The happy laugh, the cheer. O, glorious and meet To honor thus the dead, Who chose the better part, Who for their country bled! The dead! Great God! she stood there in the street, Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart While far away His grave was deckt with flowers by strangers hands to-day. THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH LAND of the South, whose stricken heart and brow Bring grief to eyes that erewhile only knew For their own loss to sorrow, spurn not thou These tribute tears; ah, we have suffered too. NEW ORLEANS, 1885. THE BURIAL OF GRANT 115 THE BURIAL OF GRANT (NEW YORK, AUGUST 8, 1885) YE living soldiers of the mighty war, Once more from roaring cannon and the drums And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar; Once more your Captain calls to you; Come to his last review! ii And come ye, too, bright spirits of the dead, Ye who flamed heavenward from the embattled field; And ye whose harder fate it was to yield Life from the loathful prison or anguished bed; Dear ghosts! come join your comrades here Beside this sacred bier. in Nor be ye absent, ye immortal band, Warriors of ages past, and our own age, Who drew the sword for right, and not in rage, Made war that peace might live in all the land, Nor ever struck one vengeful blow, But helped the fallen foe. IV And fail not ye, but, ah, ye falter not To join his army of the dead and living, Ye who once felt his might, and his forgiving; Brothers, whom more in love than hate he smote. For all his countrymen make room By our great hero s tomb ! Il6 LYRICS V Come, soldiers not to battle as of yore, But come to weep; ay, shed your noblest tears; For lo, the stubborn chief, who knew not fears, Lies cold at last, ye shall not see him more. How long grim Death he fought and well, That poor, lean frame doth tell. VI All s over now ; here let our Captain rest, Silent amid the blare of praise and blame; Here let him rest, while never rests his fame; Here in the city s heart he loved the best, And where our sons his tomb may see To make them brave as he ; VII As brave as he he on whose iron arm Our Greatest leaned, our gentlest and most wise; Leaned when all other help seemed mocking lies, While this one soldier checked the tide of harm, And they together saved the state, And made it free and great. THE DEAD COMRADE At the burial of Grant, a bugler stood forth and sounded " taps." I COME, soldiers, arouse ye ! Another has gone; Let us bury our comrade, His battles are done. His sun it is set; He was true, he was brave, He feared not the grave, There is naught to regret. THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 1 17 Bring music and banners And wreaths for his bier No fault of the fighter That Death conquered here. Bring him home ne er to rove, Bear him home to his rest, And over his breast Fold the flag of his love. in Great Captain of battles, We leave him with Thee! What was wrong, O, forgive it; His spirit make free. Sound taps, and away! Out lights, and to bed! Farewell, soldier dead ! Farewell for a day. ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN THIS bronze doth keep the very form and mold Of our great martyr s face. Yes, this is he : That brow all wisdom, all benignity; That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold Like some harsh landscape all the summer s gold; That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea For storms to beat on; the lone agony Those silent, patient lips too well foretold. Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men As might some prophet of the elder day Brooding above the tempest and the fray LYRICS With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken. A power was his beyond the touch of art Or armed strength his pure and mighty heart. THE PRESIDENT (WRITTEN DURING THE FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF PRESIDENT CLEVELAND) NOT his to guide the ship while tempests blow, War s billows burst, and glorious thunders beat; Not his the joy to see an alien foe Fly down the dreadful valley of defeat; Not his the fame of that great soul and tried, Who conquered civil peace by arms and love; Nor his the emprize of one who lately died Hand-claspt with foes, who weep his tomb above. But this his task, all passionless, unsplendid, To teach, in public place, a nobler creed; To build a wall, alone or well befriended, Gainst the base partizan s ignoble greed. Or will he fail, or triumph ? History lays A moment down her pen. A nation waits and prays. PART IV ESSIPOFF WHAT is her playing like? I ask while dreaming here under her music s power. T is like the leaves of the dark passion-flower Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, O, deep they sink, Deep in the ground, that flower s pure life to drink. ADELE AUS DER OHE IIQ II What is her playing like ? T is like a bird Who, singing in a wild wood, never knows That its lone melody is heard By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy woes. ADELE AUS DER OHE (LISZT) i WHAT is her playing like? T is like the wind in wintry northern valleys. A dream-pause; then it rallies And once more bends the pine-tops, suddenly shatters The ice-crags, whitely scatters The spray along the paths of avalanches, Startles the blood, and every visage blanches. Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool That holds the trembling shadow of the trees; Where waves too wildly rush to freeze Tho all the air is cool; And hear, O, hear, while musically call With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar, Voices of fall on fall; And now a swelling blast, that dies; and now no more, no more. (CHOPIN) AH, what celestial art ! And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and float, All music, note by note, Into the tranced mind and quivering heart ! 120 LYRICS Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry metal Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect petal ! And can we have, on earth, of heaven the whole, Or be to heaven upcaught, Hearing the soul of inexpressible thought, Roses of sound That strew melodious leaves upon the silent ground; And music that is music s very soul, Without one touch of earth, Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth ! MODJESKA THERE are four sisters known to mortals well, Whose names are Joy and Sorrow, Death and Love; This last it was who did my footsteps move To where the other deep-eyed sisters dwell. To-night, or ere yon painted curtain fell, These, one by one, before my eyes did rove Through the brave mimic world that Shakespeare wove. Lady! thy art, thy passion were the spell That held me, and still holds; for thou dost show, With those most high each in his sovereign art, Shakespeare supreme, and Tuscan Angelo, Great art and passion are one. Thine too the part To prove, that still for him the laurels grow Who reaches through the mind to pluck the heart. THE DRAMA (SUPPOSED TO BE FROM THE POLISH) I SAT in the crowded theater. The first notes of the orchestra wandered in the air; then the full harmony burst forth; then ceased. THE DRAMA 121 The conductor, secretly pleased with the loud applause, waited a moment, then played again; but as he struck upon his desk for the third time, the bell sounded, the just-beginning tones of the wind-instruments and the violins husht suddenly, and the curtain was rolled to the ceiling. Then appeared a wonderful vision, which shall not soon be forgotten by me. For know that I am one who loves all things beautiful. Did you find the figure of a man lying solitary upon the wind-fashioned hills of sand, watching the large sun rise from the ocean? That was I. It was I who, lonely, walked at evening through the woods of autumn, beholding the sun s level light strike through the unfallen red and golden foliage, Whose heart trembled when he saw the fire that rapidly consumed the dead leaves lying upon the hillside, and spread a robe of black that throbbed with crimson jewels under the wind of the rushing flame. Know, also, that the august forms wrought in marble by the ancient sculptors have power upon me, also the ima ginative works of the incomparable painters; and that the voices of the early poets are modern and familiar to me. What vision was it, then, that I beheld; what art was it that made my heart tremble and filled me with joy that was like pain? Was it the art of the poet ; was it of a truth poetry made visible in human attitudes and motions? Was it the art of the painter which Raphael knew so well when he created those most gracious shapes that yet live on the walls of the Vatican? Or was it the severe and marvelous art of the sculp tor, in which antique Phidias excelled, and which Michael Angelo indued with new and mighty power? 122 LYRICS Or, haply, it was that enchanting myth, made real before our eyes of the insensate marble warmed to life beneath the passionate gaze of the sculptor! No, no; it was not this miracle, of which the bards have so often sung; nor was it the art of the poet, nor of the painter, nor of the musician (tho often I thought of music), nor of the sculptor. It was none of these that moved my heart, and the hearts of all who beheld, and yet it was all of these, For it was the ancient and noble art of the drama, that art which includes all other arts, and she who was the mistress of it was the divine Modjeska. FOR AN ALBUM (TO BE READ ONE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER) A CENTURY S summer breezes shook The maple shadows on the grass Since she who owned this ancient book From the green world to heaven did pass. Beside a northern lake she grew, A wild-flower on its craggy walls; Her eyes were mingled gray and blue, Like waves where summer sunlight falls. Cheerful from morn to evening-close, No humblest work, no prayer forgot! Yet who of woman born but knows The sorrows of our mortal lot! And she too suffered, tho the wound Was hidden from the general gaze, And most from those who thus had found An added burden for their days. PORTO. FINO 123 She had no special grace, nor art; Her riches not in banks were kept; Her treasure was a gentle heart; Her skill to comfort those who wept. Not without foes her days were past, For quick her burning scorn was fanned. Her friends were many least and last, A poet from a distant land. PORTO FINO I KNOW a girl she is a poet s daughter, And many-mooded as a poet s day, And changing as the Mediterranean water; We walked together by an emerald bay, So deep, so green, so promontory-hidden That the lost mariner might peer in vain Through storms, to find where he erewhile had ridden, Safe-sheltered from the wild and windy main. Down the high stairs we clambered just to rest a Cool moment in the church s antique shade. How gay the aisles and altars! T was the festa Of brave Saint George who the old dragon laid. How bright the little port! The red flags fluttered, Loud clanged the bells, and loud the children s glee; What tho some distant, unseen storm-cloud muttered, And waves breathed big along the weedy quay. We climbed the hill whose rising cleaves asunder Green bay and blue immeasurable sea; We heard the breakers at its bases thunder; We heard the priests harsh chant soar wild and free. 124 LYRICS Then through the graveyard s straight and narrow portal Our journey led. How dark the place ! How strange Its steep, black mountain wall as if the immortal Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range! Beyond, the smoky olives clothed the mountains In green that grew through many a moonlit night. Below, down cleft and chasm leapt snowy fountains; Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright; When, sudden, from out a fair and smiling heaven Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare; Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven, And turned the rain to diamonds in the air. So past the day in shade, and shower, and sun, Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful maiden ! Great Heaven! deal kindly with this gentle one, Nor let her soul too heavily be laden. IMPROMPTUS I TO F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER THIS is the flower of thought ; Take it, thou empress of a land Of true hearts, from a loyal subject s hand; And with it naught, O, naught beneath life s ever-brightening dome Of sad remembrance! May it bring Dreams of joy only, and of happy days Backward and still to come; IMPROMPTUS 125 Of birds that sang last eve, and still shall sing In dawns of morrows only joyful lays. Or yet, if thou shouldst go Not utterly unscathed of mortal woe Thy blackest hour be touched by memory s gold, As is this flower s leaf. Then shalt thou hold Ever a young heart in thee, ever as now A look of quenchless youth beneath thy peerless brow. II ART FOLLOWING the sun, westward the march of power! The Rose of Might blooms in our new-world mart : But see, just bursting forth from bud to flower, A late, slow growth, the fairer Rose of Art. HI TO A SOUTHERN GIRL SWEET rose that bloomed on the red field of war, Think not too sadly of the dreadful Past ! Are not old foes new friends not least, tho last, One whose far home lies neath yon Northern star? IV FOR A FAN EACH of us answers to a call; Master or mistress have we all. I belong to lovely Anne; Dost thou not wish thou wert a fan? Thus to be treasured, thus to be prest, Pleasuring thus, and thus carest? V TO T. B. A. IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A BOOK OF PROSE YOUR pretty book doth please me, Of carks and cares doth ease me; But don t forget, my boy, 126 LYRICS Verse is your true employ. And surely, Thomas Bailey, In all this new-world melee Too seldom comes the poet, And when he does we know it! Yes, no one else can do The work that s play to you. So spend your precious time in Your master art of rhymin , Then shall you keep the praise Of these and future days. 1893. VI A THEME " GIVE me a theme," the little poet cried, "And I will do my part." " T is not a theme you need," the world replied, "You need a heart." VH THE CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE NURSERY (FOR F. AND R.) WITH wild surprise Four great eyes In two small heads From neighboring beds Looked out and winkt And glittered and blinkt At a very queer sight In the dim dawn-light. As plain as can be A fairy tree Flashes and glimmers And shakes and shimmers. Red, green, and blue IMPROMPTUS 127 Meet their view; Silver and gold Sharp eyes behold; Small moons, big stars; And jams in jars, And cakes and honey And thimbles and money; Pink dogs, blue cats, Little squeaking rats, And candles and dolls And crackers and polls, A real bird that sings, And tokens and favors, And all sorts of things For the little shavers. Four black eyes Grow big with surprise, And then grow bigger When a tiny little figure Jaunty and airy, A fairy! a fairy! From the tree-top cries: "Open wide! Black Eyes! Come, children, wake now! Your joys you may take now." Quick as you can think Twenty small toes In four pretty rows. Like little piggies pink, All kick in the air And before you can wink The tree stands bare! 128 LYRICS PART V MUSIC AND WORDS THIS day I heard such music that I thought: Hath human speech the power thus to be wrought, Into such melody, pure, sensuous sound, Into such mellow, murmuring mazes caught; Can words (I said), when these keen tones are bound (Silent, except in memory of this hour) Can human words alone usurp the power Of trembling strings that thrill to the very soul, And of this ecstasy bring back the whole? ii Ah, no ( t was answered in my inmost heart), Unto itself sufficient is each art, And each doth utter what none other can Some hidden mood of the large soul of man. Ah, think not thou with words well interweaved To wake the tones wherein the viol grieved With its most heavy burden; think not thou, Adventurous, to push thy shallop s prow Into that surge of well-remembered tones, Striving to match each wandering wind that moans, Each bell that tolls, and every bugle s blowing With some most fitting word, some verse bestowing A never-shifting form on that which past Swift as a bird that glimmers down the blast. in So, still unworded, save in memory mute, Rest thou sweet hour of viol and of lute; THE POET S FAME 129 Of thoughts that never, never can be spoken, Too frail for the rough usage of men s words Thoughts that shall keep their silence all unbroken Till music once more stirs them ; then like birds That in the night-time slumber, they shall wake, While all the leaves of all the forest shake. O, hark! I hear it now, that tender strain Fulfilled with all of sorrow save its pain. THE POET S FAME MANY the songs of power the poet wrought To shake the hearts of men. Yea, he had caught The inarticulate and murmuring sound That comes at midnight from the darkened ground When the earth sleeps; for this he framed a word Of human speech, and hearts were strangely stirred That listened.^j^nd for him the evening dew Fell with a sound of music, and the blue Of the deep, starry sky he had the art To put in language that did seem a part Of the great scope and progeny of n In woods, or waves, or winds, there was no creature Mysterious to him. He was too wise Either to fear, or follow, or despise Whom men call Science for he knew full well All she had told, or still might live to tell, Was known to him before her very birth; Yea, that there was no secret of the earth, Nor of the waters under, nor the skies, That had been hidden from the poet s eyes; By him there was no ocean unexplored, Nor any savage coast that had not roared Its music in his ears. 130 LYRICS He loved the town Not less he loved the ever-deepening brown Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills; And long would listen to the starts and thrills Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze And the quick, winged shadows flashing by, Or birds that slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. All these were written on the poet s soul; But he knew, too, the utmost, distant goal Of the human mind. His fiery thought did run To Time s beginning, ere yon central sun Had warmed to life the swarming broods of men. In waking dreams, his many-visioned ken Clutcht the large, final destiny of things. He heard the starry music, and the wings Of beings unfelt by others thrilled the air About him. Yet the loud and angry blare Of tempests found an echo in his verse, And it was here that lovers did rehearse The ditties they would sing when, not too soon, Came the warm night ; shadows, and stars, and moon. Who heard his songs were filled with noble rage, And wars took fire from his prophetic page Most righteous wars, wherein, midst blood and tears, The world rushed onward through a thousand years. And still he made the gentle sounds of peace Heroic ; bade the nation s anger cease ! Bitter his songs of grief for those who fell And for all this the people loved him well. They loved him well and therefore, on a day, They said with one accord : " Behold how gray THE POET S PROTEST 131 Our poet s head hath grown ! Ere J t is too late Come, let us crown him in our Hall of State; Ring loud the bells, give to the winds his praise, And urge his fame to other lands and days!" So was it done, and deep his joy therein. But passing home at night, from out the din Of the loud Hall, the poet, unaware, Moved through a lonely and dim-lighted square There was the smell of lilacs in the air And then the sudden singing of a bird, Startled by his slow tread. What memory stirred Within his brain he told not. Yet this night, Lone lingering when the eastern heavens were bright, He wove a song of such immortal art That there lives not in all the world one heart One human heart unmoved by it. Long! long! The laurel-crown has failed, but not that song Born of the night and sorrow. Where he lies At rest beneath the ever-shifting skies, Age after age, from far-off lands they come, With tears and flowers, to seek the poet s tomb. THE POET S PROTEST O MAN with your rule and measure, Your tests and analyses ! You may take your empty pleasure, May kill the pine, if you please; You may count the rings and the seasons, May hold the sap to the sun, You may guess at the ways and the reasons Till your little day is done. But for me the golden crest That shakes in the wind and launches 132 LYRICS Its spear toward the reddening West! For me the bough and the breeze, The sap unseen, and the glint Of light on the dew-wet branches, The hiding shadows, the hint Of the soul of mysteries. You may sound the sources of life, And prate of its aim and scope; You may search with your chilly knife Through the broken heart of hope. But for me the love-sweet breath, And the warm, white bosom heaving, And never a thought of death, And only the bliss of living. TO A YOUNG POET IN the morning of the skies I heard a lark arise. On the first day of the year A wood-flower did appear. Like a violet, like a lark, Like the dawn that kills the dark, Like a dewdrop, trembling, clinging, Is the poet s first sweet singing. "WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES" "WHEN the true poet comes, how shall we know him? By what clear token; manners, language, dress? Or will a voice from heaven speak and show him Him the swift healer of the earth s distress? YOUTH AND AGE 133 Tell us, that when the long-expected comes At last, with mirth and melody and singing, We him may greet with banners, beat of drums, Welcome of men and maids and joybells ringing; And, for this poet of ours, Laurels and flowers." Thus shall ye know him, this shall be his token Manners like other men, an unstrange gear; His speech not musical, but harsh and broken Will sound at first, each line a driven spear. For he will sing as in the centuries olden, Before mankind its earliest fire forgot Yet whoso listens long hears music golden. How shall ye know him? Ye shall know him not Till, ended hate and scorn, To the grave he s borne. YOUTH AND AGE "I LIKE your book, my boy, T is full of youth and joy, And love that sings and dreams. Yet it puzzles me," he said; " A string of pearls it seems, But I cannot find the thread." " O friend of olden days ! Dear to me is your praise, But, many and many a year You must go back, I fear; You must journey back," I said, "To find that golden thread!" 134 LYRICS THE SONNET WHAT is a sonnet ? T is the pearly shell That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea; A precious jewel carved most curiously; It is a little picture painted well. What is a sonnet? T is the tear that fell From a great poet s hidden ecstasy; A two-edged sword, a star, a song ah me ! Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell. This was the flame that shook with Dante s breath; The solemn organ whereon Milton played, And the clear glass where Shakespeare s shadow falls : A sea this is beware who ventureth ! For like a fiord the narrow floor is laid Mid-ocean deep sheer to the mountain walls. A SONNET OF DANTE ("Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare") So fair, so pure my lady as she doth go Upon her way, and others doth salute, That every tongue becometh trembling-mute, And every eye is troubled by that glow. Her praise she hears as on she moveth slow, Clothed with humility as with a suit; She seems a thing that came (without dispute) From heaven to earth a miracle to show. Through eyes that gaze on her benignity There passes to the heart a sense so sweet That none can understand who may not prove; And from her countenance there seems to move A gentle spirit, with all love replete, That to the soul comes, saying, "Sigh, O, sigh!" KEATS 135 THE NEW TROUBADOURS (AVIGNON, 1879) THEY said that all the troubadours had flown No bird to flash a wing or swell a throat ! But as we journeyed down the rushing Rhone To Avignon, what joyful note on note Burst forth beneath thy shadow, O Ventour! Whose eastward forehead takes the dawn divine ; Ah, dear Provence! ah, happy troubadour, And that sweet, mellow, antique song of thine! First, Roumanille, the leader of the choir, Then graceful Matthieu, tender, sighing, glowing, Then Wyse all fancy, Aubanel all fire, And Mistral, mighty as the north-wind s blowing; And youthful Gras, and lo ! among the rest A mother-bird who sang above her nest. KEATS TOUCH not with dark regret his perfect fame, Sighing, "Had he but lived he had done so"; Or, " Were his heart not eaten out with woe John Keats had won a prouder, mightier name!" Take him for what he was and did nor blame Blind fate for all he suffered. Thou shouldst know Souls such as his escape no mortal blow No agony of joy, or sorrow, or shame ! " Whose name was writ in water ! " What large laughter Among the immortals when that word was brought ! Then when his fiery spirit rose flaming after High toward the topmost heaven of heavens up-caught ! "All hail! our younger brother!" Shakespeare said, And Dante nodded his imperial head. 136 LYRICS AN INSCRIPTION IN ROME (PIAZZA DI SPAGNA) SOMETHING there is in Death not all unkind; He hath a gentler aspect, looking back; For flowers may bloom in the dread thunder s track, And even the cloud that struck with light was lined. Thus, when the heart is silent, speaks the mind; But there are moments when comes rushing, black And fierce upon us, the old, awful lack, And Death once more is cruel, senseless, blind. So when I saw beside a Roman portal " In this house died John Keats " for tears that sprung I could no further read. O bard immortal ! Not for thy fame s sake but so young, so young ; Such beauty vanished; spilled such heavenly wine; All quenched that power of deathless song divine ! DESECRATION THE poet died last night; Outworn his mortal frame. He hath fought well the fight, And won a deathless name. Bring laurel for his bier, And flowers to deck the hearse. The tribute of a tear To his immortal verse. Husht is that piercing strain Who heard, for pleasure wept. His were our joy and pain ; He sang our sorrow slept. JOCOSERIA 137 Yes, weep for him; no more Shall such high songs have birth; Gone is the harp he bore Forever from the earth. Weep, weep, and scatter flowers Above his precious dust; Child of the heavenly powers Divine, and pure, and just. Weep, weep for when to-night Shall hoot the horned owl, Beneath the pale moon s light The human ghouls will prowl. What creatures those will throng Within the sacred gloom, To do our poet wrong To break the sealed tomb ? Not the great world and gay That pities not, nor halts By thoughtless night or day, But, O more sordid-false ! His trusted friend and near, To whom his spirit moved; The brother he held dear; The woman that he loved. "JOCOSERIA" MEN grow old before their time, With the journey half before them; In languid rhyme They deplore them. I3 8 LYRICS Life up-gathers carks and cares, So good-by to maid and lover! Find three gray hairs, And cry, "All s over!" Look at Browning! How he keeps In the seventies still a heart That never sleeps Still an art Full of youth s own grit and power, Thoughts we deemed to boys belonging; The springtime s flower Love-and-longing. TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND WITH EMERSON S "POEMS" EDMUND, in this book you ll find Music from a prophet s mind. Even when harsh the numbers be, There r s an inward melody; And when sound is one with sense, T is a bird s song, sweet, intense. Chide me not the book is small, For in it lies our all in all. We who in El Dorado live Have no better gift to give. When no more is silver mill, Golden stream, or iron hill Search the New World from pole to pole, Here you ll find its singing soul! OUR ELDER POETS 139 OUR ELDER POETS (1878) HE is gone! We shall not see again That reverend form, those silver locks; Silent at last the iron pen And words that poured like molten rocks. He is gone, and we who thought him cold Miss from our lives a generous heat, And know that stolid form did hold A fire that burned, a heart that beat. He is gone, but other bards remain Our gray old prophet, young at heart; Our scholar-poet s patriot strain; And he of the wise and mellow art. And he who first to Science sought, But to the Merry Muses after; Who learned a secret never taught The knowledge of men s tears and laughter. He also in whose music rude Our peopled hills and prairies speak, Resounding, in his modern mood, The tragic fury of the Greek. And he, too, lingers round about The darling city of his birth The bard whose gray eyes looking out Find scarce one peer in all the earth. 140 LYRICS LONGFELLOW S "BOOK OF SONNETS" TWAS Sunday evening as I wandered down The central highway of this swarming place, And felt a pleasant stillness not a trace Of Saturday s harsh turmoil in the town; Then as a gentle breeze just stirs a gown, Yet almost motionless, or as the face Of silence smiles, I heard the chimes of "Grace" Sound murmuring through the autumn evening s brown. To-day, again, I past along Broadway In the fierce tumult and mid-noise of noon, While neath my feet the solid pavement shook; When lo ! it seemed that bells began to play Upon a Sabbath eve a silver tune For as I walked I read the poet s book. "H. H." I WOULD that in the verse she loved some word, Not all unfit, I to her praise might frame Some word wherein the memory of her name Should through long years its incense still afford. But no, her spirit smote with its own sword; Herself has lit the fire whose blood-red flame Shall not be quenched this is her living fame Who struck so well the sonnet s subtile chord. None who e er knew her can believe her dead ; Tho should she die they deem it well might be Her spirit took its everlasting flight In summer s glory, by the sunset sea That onward through the Golden Gate it fled. Ah, where that bright soul is cannot be night. THE MODERN RHYMER 141 THE MODERN RHYMER Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, Have not we sworn it, many a time, That we no more our verse would scrawl, For Shakespeare he had sung it all ! And yet, whatever others see, The earth is fresh to you and me; And birds that sing, and winds that blow, And blooms that make the country glow, And lusty swains, and maidens bright, And clouds by day, and stars by night, And all the pictures in the skies That moved before Will Shakespeare s eyes; Love, hate, and scorn; frost, fire, and flower; On us as well as him have power. Go to! our spirits shall not be laid, Silenced and smothered by a shade. Avon is not the only stream Can make a poet sing and dream; Nor are those castles, queens, and kings The hight of sublunary things. ii Beneath the false moon s pallid glare, By the cool fountain in the square (This gray-green dusty square they set Where two gigantic highways met) We hear a music rare and new, Sweet Shakespeare was not known to you! You saw the New World s sun arise; High up it shines in our own skies. You saw the ocean from the shore; 142 LYRICS Through mid-seas now our ship doth roar A wild, new, teeming world of men That wakens in the poet s brain Thoughts, that were never thought before, Of hope, and longing, and despair, Wherein man s never-resting race Westward, still westward, on doth fare, Doth still subdue, and still aspire, Or turning on itself doth face Its own indomitable fire; O million-centuried thoughts that make The Past seem but a shallop s wake I TWO WORLDS AND OTHER POEMS TWO WORLDS AND OTHER POEMS PART I TWO WORLDS I THE VENUS OF MILO GRACE, majesty, and the calm bliss of life; No conscious war twixt human will and duty; Here breathes, forever free from pain and strife, The old, untroubled pagan world of beauty. II MICHAEL ANGELO S SLAVE OF life, of death the mystery and woe, Witness in this mute, carven stone the whole. That suffering smile were never fashioned so Before the world had wakened to a soul. PART II THE STAR IN THE CITY As down the city street I pass at the twilight hour, Mid the noise of wheels and hoofs That grind on the stones, and beat ; Upward, by spire and tower, Over the chimneys and roofs Climbs my glance to the skies, 146 TWO WORLDS And I see, with a glad surprise, A mist with a core of light. Slowly, as grows the night, As the sky turns blue from gray, Slowly it beams more bright, And keeps with me on my way. Soul of the twilight star That leads me from afar, Spirit that keener glows As the daylight darker grows; That leaps the chasm of blue Where the cross-street thunders through, And follows o er roof and spire, In the night-time soaring higher; I know thee, and only I, Thou comrade of the sky Star of the poet s heart, The light and soul of his art. MOONLIGHT T is twelve o the clock. The town is still; As gray as a rock From gable to sill Each cottage is standing. The narrow street (Where the tree-tops meet), From the woods to the landing, Is black with shadows; The roofs are white, And white are the meadows; The harbor is bright. Can this be night? I CARE NOT IF THE SKIES ARE WHITE 147 T is twelve o the clock. The town is still; As still as a stock From harbor to hill. The moon s broad marge Has no stars near, Far off how clear They shine, how large ! Something is strange In the air, in the light; Come forth! Let us range In -the black, in the white, Through the day-like night. m In the elm-trees all No flutter, no twitter; From the granite wall The small stars glitter. A filmy thread My forehead brushes; A meteor rushes From green to red. Naught is but the bliss Of this dark, of this white, Of these stars of this kiss, O my Love and my Light In the day and the night. "I CARE NOT IF THE SKIES ARE WHITE" I CARE not if the skies are white, Nor if the fields are gold; 148 TWO WORLDS I care not whether t is black or bright, Or winds blow soft or cold; But O the dark, dark woods, For thee, and me and love. Let all but us at last depart, The great world say farewell! This is the kingdom of the heart, Where only two may dwell; And O the dark, dark woods, For thee, and me and love. CONTRASTS THUNDER in the north sky, Sunshine in the south; Frowning eyes and forehead And a smiling mouth. Maiden in the morning Love her? Yes, but fear her! In the moony shadows Nearer, nearer, nearer! SERENADE (FOR MUSIC) DEEP in the ocean of night A pearl through the darkness shines; Asleep in the garden of night A lily s head reclines; Afar in the forest of night Dreams the nightingale; Clouds in the sky of night Make one bright star grow pale. INDOORS, AT NIGHT 149 O thou, sweet soul of my love, Art my pearl, my lily-flower; Thou, hiding heart of my love, Art my bird, in thy maiden bower; Heart of my only love That shin st in the heavens afar Thou, in the night of love, Art my one, dear, trembling star. Let me draw thee to the light, Pearl of the shadowy sea ! Awake, thou lily of light, Turn thy face divine on me! Arouse thee, bird of the night, Let thy voice to my voice reply! Star of thy lover s night, Shine forth or I die I die ! LARGESS SWEET mouth, dark eyes, deep heart All of beauty, all of glamor heaven could fashion With its divinest art; A woman s life and love, a woman s passion: But these, at last, to win, Land, or sea, or hell, or heaven might well be ravished At price of any sin Yet freely all she on her lover lavished. INDOORS, AT NIGHT THE window s white, the candle s red, Show evening falleth overhead; The candle s red, the window s black, And earth is close in midnight s sack; 150 TWO WORLDS The candle fades, The midnight shades Turn suddenly a starry blue And now to dreams, my soul, of you ! THE ABSENT LOVER THE purple of the summer fields, the dark Of forests, and the upward mountain sweep Broken by crag, and scar of avalanche; The trembling of the tops of million trees; A world of sunlight thrilled with winds of dawn; All these I feel, I breathe, all these I am When with closed eyes I bring thy presence near, And touch thy spirit with my spirit s love. "TO-NIGHT THE MUSIC DOTH A BURDEN BEAR" TO-NIGHT the music doth a burden bear One word that moans and murmurs; doth exhale Tremulously as perfume on the air From out a rose blood-red, or lily pale. The burden is thy name, dear soul of me, Which the rapt melodist unknowing all Still doth repeat through fugue and reverie; Thy name, to him unknown, to me doth call, And weeps my heart at every music-fall. SANCTUM SANCTORUM i I THOUGHT I knew the mountain s every mood, Gray, black with storms, or lit by lightening dawn; But once in evening twilight came a spell THE GIFT 151 Upon its brow, that held me with new power; A look of unknown beauty, a deep mood Touched with a sorrow as of human kind. n I thought I knew full well my comrade s face, But a new face it was to me this day. She sat among the worshipers and heard The preacher s voice, yet listened not, but leaned Her head unto a tone whose accents fell On her sweet spirit only. Deep the awe Struck then upon me, for my friend no more Seemed to be near, as with forgetting gaze, And piteous features steeped in tenderness, She thought on things unspeakable unknown To all the world beside. m When forth doth pass, In holy pilgrimage and awful quest, The soul of thy soul s comrade, thou must stand In silence by, and let it move alone And unattended far to the inner shrine; Thou canst but wait, and bow thine head, and pray; And well for thee if thou may st prove so pure, Ended that hour, thy comrade thou regain st, Thine as before, or even more deeply thine. THE GIFT LIFE came to me and spoke : "A palace for thee I have built Wherein to take thy pleasure; I have filled it with priceless treasure; I5 2 TWO WORLDS Seven days shalt thou dwell therein; Thy joy shall be keener than sin, Without the stain of guilt Enter the door of oak!" n I entered the oaken door; Within, no ray of light, I saw no golden store, My heart stood still with fright; To curse Life was I fain; Then one unseen before Laid in my own her hand, And said: "Come thou and know This is the House of Woe; I am Life s sister, Pain." in Through many a breathless way; In dark, on dizzying hight, She led me through the day And into the dreadful night. My soul was sore distrest And wildly I longed for rest; Till a chamber met my sight, Far off, and hid, and still, With diamonds all bedight And every precious thing; Not even a god might will More beauty there to bring. rv Then spoke Life s sister, Pain : " Here thou as a king shalt reign, Here shalt thou take thy pleasure, This is the priceless treasure, YESTERDAY, WHEN WE WERE FRIENDS 153 The chamber of thy delight Through endless day and night ; Rejoice, this is the end Thou hast found the heart of a friend." "AH, TIME, GO NOT SO SOON" AH, Time, go not so soon; I would not thus be used, I would forego that boon; Turn back, swift Time, and let Me many a year forget; Let her be strange once more an unfamiliar tune, An unimagined flower, Not known till that mute, wondrous hour When first we met! "THE YEARS ARE ANGELS" THE years are angels that bring down from Heaven Gifts of the gods. What has the angel given Who last night vanished up the heavenly wall? He gave a friend the gods* best gift of all. "IN HER YOUNG EYES" IN her young eyes the children looked and found Their happy comrade. Summer souls false-bound In age s frosty winter, without ruth, Lived once again in her their long-lost youth. "YESTERDAY, WHEN WE WERE FRIENDS" i YESTERDAY, when we were friends, We were scarcely friends at all; Now we have been friends so long, Now our love has grown so strong. 154 TWO WORLDS n When to-morrow s eve shall fall We shall say, as night descends, Again shall say: Ah, yesterday Scarcely were we friends at all Now we have been friends so long;- Our love has grown so deep, so strong. A NIGHT SONG (FOR THE GUITAR) THE leaves are dark and large, Love, T is blue at every marge, Love ; The stars hang in the tree, Love, I ll pluck them all for thee, Love; The crescent moon is curled, Love, Down at the edge of the world, Love; I ll run and bring it now, Love, To crown thy gentle brow, Love; For in my song. The summer long, The stars, and moon, and night, Love, Are but for thy delight, Love! LEO I OVER the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo Leo the shaggy, the lustrous, the giant, the gentle New foundland. Dark are his eyes as the night, and black is his hair as the midnight ; BROTHERS 155 Large and slow is his tread till he sees his master returning, Then how he leaps in the air, with motion ponderous, frightening! Now, as I pass to my work, I hear o er the roar of the city Far over the roofs of the houses, I hear the barking of Leo ; For me he is moaning and crying, for me in measure sonorous He raises his marvelous voice, for me he is wailing and calling. n None can assuage his grief, tho but for a day is the parting, Tho morn after morn t is the same, tho home every night comes his master, Still will he grieve when we sever, and wild will be his rejoicing When at night his master returns and lays but a hand on his forehead. No lack will there be in the world of faith, of love, and devotion, No lack for me and for mine, while Leo alone is living While over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo. PART III BROTHERS PASSION is a wayward child, Art his brother firm and mild. Lonely each Doth fail to reach Hight of music, song, or speech. 156 TWO WORLDS If hand in hand they sally forth, East or west, or south or north, Naught can stay them Nor delay them. Slaves not they of space or time In their journeyings sublime. LOVE, ART, AND TIME ON A PICTURE ENTITLED " THE PORTRAIT," BY WILL H. LOW SWEET Grecian girl who on the sunbright wall Tracest the outline of thy lover s shade, While, on the dial near, Time s hand is laid With silent motion fearest thou, then, all? How that one day the light shall cease to fall On him who is thy light; how lost, dismayed, By Time, and Time s pale comrade Death, be trayed, Thou shalt breathe on beneath the all-shadowing pall! Love, Art, and Time, these are the triple powers That rule the world, and shall for many a morrow Love that beseecheth Art to conquer Time! Bright is the picture, but, O fading flowers I O youth that passes ! love that bringeth sorrow ! Bright is the picture; sad the poet s rhyme. THE DANCERS ON A PICTURE ENTITLED "SUMMER," BY T. W. DEWING BEHOLD these maidens in a row Against the birches freshening green; Their lines like music sway and flow; Thev move before the emerald screen EMMA LAZARUS 157 Like broidered figures dimly seen On woven cloths, in moony glow Gracious, and graceful, and serene. They hear the harp; its lovely tones Each maiden in each motion owns, As if she were a living note Which from that curved harp doth float. THE TWENTY-THIRD OF APRIL A LITTLE English earth and breathed air Made Shakespeare, the divine; so is his verse The broidered soil of every blossom fair; So doth his song all sweet bird- songs rehearse. But tell me, then, what wondrous stuff did fashion That part of him which took those wilding flights Among imagined worlds; whence the white passion That burned three centuries through the days and nights! Not heaven s four winds could make, nor the round earth, The soul wherefrom the soul of Hamlet flamed; Nor anything of merely mortal birth Could lighten as when Shakespeare s name is named. How was his body bred we know full well, But that high soul s engendering who may tell! EMMA LAZARUS WHEN on thy bed of pain thou layest low, Daily we saw thy body fade away, Nor could the love wherewith we loved thee stay For one dear hour the flesh borne down by woe; But as the mortal sank, with what white glow Flamed thy eternal spirit, night and day; 158 TWO WORLDS Untouched, unwasted, tho the crumbling clay Lay wreckt and ruined ! Ah, is it not so, Dear poet-comrade, who from sight hast gone; Is it not so that spirit hath a life Death may not conquer? But, O dauntless onel Still must we sorrow. Heavy is the strife And thou not with us; thou of the old race That with Jehovah parleyed, face to face. THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER ON this day Browning died? Say, rather: On the tide That throbs against those glorious palace walls; That rises pauses falls With melody and myriad-tinted gleams; On that enchanted tide, Half real, and half poured from lovely dreams, A soul of Beauty, a white, rhythmic flame, Past singing forth into the Eternal Beauty whence it came. PART IV SHERIDAN i QUIETLY, like a child That sinks in slumber mild, No pain or troubled thought his well-earned peace to mar, Sank into endless rest our thunderbolt of war. ii Tho his the power to smite Quick as the lightning s light, His single arm an army, his very name a host, Not his the love of blood, the warrior s cruel boast. SHERIDAN 159 III But in the battle s flame How glorious he came ! Even like a white-combed wave that breaks and tears the shore, While wreck lies strewn behind, and terror flies before. IV T was he, his voice, his might, Could stay the panic-flight, Alone shame back the headlong, many leagued retreat, And turn to evening triumph morning s foul defeat. v He was our modern Mars; Yet firm his faith that wars Ere long would cease to vex the sad, ensanguined earth, And peace forever reign, as at Christ s holy birth. VI Blest land, in whose dark hour Arise to loftiest power No dazzlers of the sword to play the tyrant s part, But patriot-soldiers, true and pure and high of heart ! VII Of such our chief of all; And he who broke the wall Of civil strife in twain, no more to build or mend; And he who hath this day made Death his faithful friend. VIII And now above his tomb From out the eternal gloom "Welcome!" his chieftain s voice sounds o er the can non s knell; And of the three one only stays to say "Farewell!" 160 TWO WORLDS SHERMAN I GLORY and honor and fame and everlasting laudation For our captains who loved not war, but fought for the life of the nation; Who knew that, in all the land, one slave meant strife, not peace; Who fought for freedom, not glory; made war that war might cease. ii Glory and honor and fame; the beating of muffled drums; The wailing funeral dirge, as the flag-wrapt coffin comes. Fame and honor and glory, and joy for a noble soul; For a full and splendid life, and laureled rest at the goal. in Glory and honor and fame; the pomp that a soldier prizes ; The league-long waving line as the marching falls and rises ; Rumbling of caissons and guns; the clatter of horses feet, And a million awe-struck faces far down the waiting street. IV But better than martial woe, and the pageant of civic sor row; Better than praise of to-day, or the statue we build to-morrow ; Better than honor and glory, and History s iron pen, Was the thought of duty done and the love of his fellow- men. PRO PATRIA l6l PRO PATRIA EREWHILE I sang the praise of them whose lustrous names Flashed in war s dreadful flames; Who rose in glory, and in splendor, and in might To fame s sequestered hight. ii Honor to all, for each his honors meekly carried, Nor e er the conquered harried; All honor, for they sought alone to serve the state Not merely to be great. m Yes, while the glorious past our grateful memory craves, And while yon bright flag waves, Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, the peerless four, Shall live for evermore ; IV Shall shine the eternal stars of stern and loyal love, All other stars above; The imperial nation they made one, at last, and free, Their monument shall be. v Ah, yes! but ne er may we forget the praise to sound Of the brave souls that found Death in the myriad ranks, mid blood, and groans, and stenches Tombs in the abhorred trenches. l Chaplain William Henry Gilder, of the 4oth New York Volunteers, died at Brandy Station, Virginia, in April, 1864, of smallpox caught while in attendance upon the regimental hospital. 162 TWO WORLDS VI Comrades ! To-day a tear-wet garland I would bring But one song let me sing, For one sole hero of my heart and desolate home; Come with me, Comrades, come! vn Bring your glad flowers, your flags, for this one humble grave; For, Soldiers, he was brave ! Tho fell not he before the cannon s thunderous breath, Yet noble was his death. vm True soldier of his country and the sacred cross He counted gain, not loss, Perils and nameless horrors of the embattled field, While he had help to yield. IX But not where mid wild cheers the awful battle broke, A hell of fire and smoke, He to heroic death went forth with soul elate; Harder his lonely fate. x There in the pest-house died he; stricken he fearless fell, Knowing that all was well; The high, mysterious Power whereof mankind has dreamed To him not distant seemed. XI Yet life to him was O, most dear, home, children, wife, But, dearer still than life, FAILURE AND SUCCESS 163 Duty that passion of the soul which from the sod Alone lifts man to God. XII So nobly past this unknown hero of the war; And heroes, near and far, Sleep now in graves like his unfamed in song or story But theirs is more than glory ! TO THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN (REUNION AT GETTYSBURG TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE) SHADE of our greatest, O look down to-day ! Here the long, dread midsummer battle roared, And brother in brother plunged the accursed sword ; Here foe meets foe once more in proud array, Yet not as once to harry and to slay, But to strike hands, and with sublime accord Weep tears heroic for the souls that soared Quick from earth s carnage to the starry way. Each fought for what he deemed the people s good, And proved his bravery by his offered life, And sealed his honor with his outpoured blood; But the Eternal did direct the strife, And on this sacred field one patriot host Now calls thee father dear, majestic ghost ! FAILURE AND SUCCESS (G. c., 1888) HE fails who climbs to power and place Up the pathway of disgrace. He fails not who makes truth his cause, Nor bends to win the crowd s applause. 1 64 TWO WORLDS He fails not, he who stakes his all Upon the right, and dares to fall; What tho the living bless or blame, For him the long success of fame. J. R. L. ON HIS BIRTHDAY NAVIES nor armies can exalt the state; Millions of men, nor coined wealth untold; Down to the pit may sink a land of gold ; But one great name can make a country great. NAPOLEON A SOUL inhuman? No, but human all, If human is each passion man has known: Scorn, hate, and love; the lust of empire, grown To such a hight as did the world appall ; If the same human soul may soar and crawl As soared his and as crawled; if to be shown The utmost heaven and hell; if to atone For power consummate by colossal fall ; If human t is to see friend, partizan, Turn, dastardly, the imperial hand to tear That fed them; if through gnawing years to plan Vengeance, and space to breathe the unfettered air - No alien from his kind but very man Slow perished on that island of despair. THE WHITE CZAR S PEOPLE PART I THE White Czar s people cry: " Thou God of the heat and the cold, Of storm and of lightning, THE WHITE CZAR S PEOPLE 165 Of darkness, and dawn s red brightening; Hold, Lord God, hold, Hold Thy hand lest we curse Thee and die." The White Czar s people pray: u Thou God of the South and the North, We are crusht, we are bleeding; T is Christ, t is Thy Son interceding; Forth, Lord, come forth ! Bid the slayer no longer slay." The White Czar s people call Aloud to the skies of lead: " We are slaves, not freemen ; Ourselves, our children, our women Dead, we are dead, Tho we breathe, we are dead men all. " Blame not if we misprize Thee Who can, but will not draw near. T is Thou who hast made us Not Thou, dread God, to upbraid us. Hear, Lord God, hear! Lest we whom Thou madest despise Thee." PART II Then answered the Most High God, Lord of the heat and the cold, Of storm and of lightning, Of darkness, and dawn s red brightening: "Bold, yea, too bold, Whom I wrought from the air and the clod! "Hast thou forgotten from me Are those ears so quick to hear 1 66 TWO WORLDS The passion and anguish Of your sisters, your children who languish Near? Ah, not near Far off by the uttermost sea! " Who gave ye your brains to plan Your hearts to suffer and bleed? Why call ye on heaven 7 T is the earth that to you is given ! Plead, ye may plead, But for man I work through man. "Who gave ye a voice to utter Your tale to the wind and the sea? One word well spoken And the iron gates are broken! From me, yea, from me The word that ye will not mutter. "I love not murder but ruth. Begone from my sight ye who take The knife of the coward Even ye who by heaven were dowered! Wake ye, O wake, And strike with the sword of Truth ! " Fear ye lest I misprize ye I who fashioned not brutes, but men. After the lightning And darkness the dawn s red brightening! Men ! Be ye men ! Lest I who made ye despise ye ! " CHARLESTON 167 PART HI (January 22, 1905) The great word is uttered, at last! White Czar! O, where hast thou fled? Thy children, heart-broken, To thee their sorrows have spoken! To thee it is said That WORD on the wings of the blast! For the word is their fearful cry, And the word is their innocent blood. O, red is the chalice Lifted up to thy empty palace! Blood, crimson blood, On the snows where the murdered lie! Their shed blood is the word! It is winning Its way swift from zone unto zone; Through the world it has thrilled And the heart of the nations stilled. Alone, thou alone! Art thou deaf to the voice and the meaning? Lo, it swells like the sound of the sea. Dull monarch! yet, yet, shalt thou hear it. For, once neath the sun By the brave it is spoken all s done ! Hear it and fear it; For "Freedom" it cries, "We are free!" CHARLESTON 1886 Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou, Of all the cities of the sunrise sea, 1 68 TWO WORLDS Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee; Then the dread circling tempest drove its plow Right through thy palaces; and now, O now! A sound of terror, and thy children flee Into the night and death. O Deity! Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow, Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land! These are Thy creatures who to heaven cry While hell roars neath them, and its portals ope; To Thee they call, O Thou who bidst them die, Who hast forgotten to withhold Thy hand, For thou, Destroyer, art man s only Hope ! PART V HIDE NOT THY HEART i THIS is my creed, This be my deed: "Hide not thy heart!" Soon we depart; Mortals are all; A breath, then the pall; A flash on the dark All s done stiff and staik. No time for a lie; The truth, and then die. Hide not thy heart ! Forth with thy thought ! Soon t will be naught, And thou in thy tomb. Now is air, now is room. THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW 169 Down with false shame; Reck not of fame; Dread not man s spite; Quench not thy light. This be thy creed, This be thy deed: "Hide not thy heart!" in If God is, He made Sunshine and shade, Heaven and hell; This we know well. Dost thou believe? Do not deceive; Scorn not thy faith If t is a wraith, Soon it will fly. Thou, who must die, Hide not thy heart! IV This is my creed; This be my deed: Faith, or a doubt, I shall speak out And hide not my heart. "THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW" THE poet from his own sorrow Poured forth a love-sad song. A stranger, on the morrow, Drew near, with a look of wrong, I JO TWO WORLDS And said : " Beneath its pall I have hidden my heart in vain To the world thou hast sung it all! Who told thee my secret pain?" "WHITE, PILLARED NECK" WHITE, pillared neck; a brow to make men quake; A woman s perfect form; Like some cool marble, should that wake, Breathe, and be warm. A shape, a mind, a heart, Of womanhood the whole : Her breath, her smile, her touch, her art, All save her soul. "GREAT NATURE IS AN ARMY GAY" GREAT nature is an army gay, Resistless marching on its way; I hear the bugles clear and sweet, I hear the tread of million feet. Across the plain I see it pour; It tramples down the waving grass; Within the echoing mountain-pass I hear a thousand cannon roar. It swarms within my garden gate; My deepest well it drinketh dry. It doth not rest; it doth not wait; By night and day it sweepeth by; Ceaseless it marcheth by my door; It heeds me not, tho I implore. I know not whence it comes, nor where It goes. For me it doth not care LIFE IS THE COST 171 Whether I starve, or eat, or sleep, Or live, or die, or sing, or weep. And now the banners all are bright, Now torn and blackened by the fight. Sometimes its laughter shakes the sky, Sometimes the groans of those who die. Still through the night and through the livelong day The infinite army marches on its remorseless way. "LIFE IS THE COST" i LIFE is the cost. Behold yon tower, That heavenward lifts To the cloudy drifts Like a flame, like a flower! What lightness, what grace, What a dream of power! One last endeavor One stone to place And it stands forever. ii A slip, a fall ; A cry, a call; Turn away, all s done. Stands the tower in the sun Forever and a day. On the pavement below The crimson stain Will be worn away In the ebb and flow; The tower will remain. Life is the cost. 172 TWO WOKLiJb THE PRISONER S THOUGHT i Is t I for whom the law s brute penalty Was made; to whom the law once seemed a power Far off and not to be concerned withal? Am I indeed this rank and noisome thing Fit for such handling; to be pushed aside Into a human, foul receptacle, A fetid compost of dull, festering crime Even not meet for nutriment of earth, But only here to rot in memories Of my own shame, and shame of other men ? Here let me rot, then there s a taste one has For just the best of all things, even of sin. He s a poor devil who in deepest hell Knows no keen relish for the worst that is, The very acme of intensest pain, Nor smacks charred lips at thoughts of some dear crime, The sweetest, deadliest, damnablest of all. Sometimes I hug that hellish happiness; And then a loathing falls upon my soul For what I was, and am, and still must be. II And this same I there comes to me a time, And often comes, when all this slips away; Stays not one stain, nor scar, nor fatal hurt. Perhaps it is a sort of waking dream; But if I dream, I m breathing audibly, I feel my pulse beat, hear the talk and tread Down these long corridors; see the barred blue Of the cell s window, hear a singing bird Yes, O my God, I hear a singing bird, Such as I heard in childhood. Now, you think, THE CONDEMNED 173 I dream I am a child once more. Not so; I am just what I am : a man in prison (Damn them! I m innocent of what they swore And proved with cant, and well-paid perjury; Tho other crimes, they know not of, I did) But suddenly my soul is pure as yours; My thought as clean; my spirit is as free As any man s, or any purest woman s. I think as justly, as for instance, sir, You think; as circumspectly, wisely, freely, As does my jolly keeper, or the smith Who enters once a day to try the bars That shut my body out from freedom! Not My soul. Why, this my soul has thoughts that strike Into the very hights and depths of Heaven. You ll think it passing strange, good friend, no doubt. T is strange; but here s a further mystery: Think you that in some other living state After what we call death, or in this life, The thinking part of us we name the soul Can ever get away from its old self; Can wash the earth all off from it, that so It really will be, what I sometimes seem As sinless as a little child at birth, With all a woman s love for all things pure, And all a grown man s strength to do the right? THE CONDEMNED THOU art not fit to die ? Why not ? The fairest body ripes to rot. Thy soul? O, why not let it go Free from the flesh that drags it low ! To die! Poor wretch, do not deceive Thyself who art not fit to live. 174 TWO WORLDS "SOW THOU SORROW" Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it; Sow thou joy and thou shalt keep it. TEMPTATION NOT alone in pain and gloom, Does the abhorred tempter come; Not in light alone and pleasure Proffers he the poisoned measure. When the soul doth rise Nearest to its native skies, There the exalted spirit finds Borne upon the heavenly winds Satan, in an angel s guise, With voice divine and innocent eyes. A MIDSUMMER MEDITATION FACE once the thought : This piled up sky of cloud, Blue vastness, and white vastness steept in light, Struck through with light, that centers in the sun, This blue of waves below that meets blue sky; But a white, trembling shore between, that sweeps The circle of the bay; this green of woods, And keener green of new-mown, grassy fields; This ceaseless, leaf-like rustle of the waves; These shining, billowy tree-tops; songs of birds; Strong scent of seaweed, mixt with smell of pines; Face once this thought : Thy spirit that looks forth, That breathes the light, and life, and joy of all, Shall cease, but not the things that pleasure thee; VISIONS 175 They shall endure for eyes like thine, but not For thine own eyes; for human hearts like thine, But not for thine own heart, all dust and dead. Face it, O Spirit, then look up once more, Brave conqueror of dull mortality ! Look up and be a part of all thou seest. Ocean and earth and miracle of sky, All that thou seest, thou art, and without thee Were nothing. Thou, a god, dost recreate The whole; breathing thy soul in all, till all Is one wide world made perfect at thy touch. And know that thou, who darest a world create, Art one with the Almighty, son to sire Of His eternity a quenchless spark. AS DOTH THE BIRD" As doth the bird, on outstretched pinions, dare The dread abysm s viewless air, Take thou, my soul, thy fearless flight Into the void and dark of death s eternal night. VISIONS i CAST into the pit Of lonely sorrow, The suffering soul, Looking aloft, Sees with amaze In the daytime sky The shine of stars. 176 TWO WORLDS Came to him once In the seething town A form of beauty, Innocent brow, And soul of youth; Deep, sweet eyes, An angel s gaze, And rose-leaf lips That murmured low: "I, lost, forgotten, Long left, long dead, I am thy sin." in With full-toned beat Of the happy heart, In a day of peace, In an hour of joy, Once in my life And only once, Of a sudden, I saw, The end of all! Death ! WITH A CROSS OF IMMORTELLES WHEN Christ cried: "It is done!" The face of a small red flower, Looking up to the suffering One, Turned pale with love and pain, And never shone red again. In memory of that hour THE PASSING OF CHRIST 177 Which holds the secret of bliss; And the darker secret of sorrow That shall come to each, to-morrow; Sweet friend, I send you this. THE PASSING OF CHRIST O MAN of light and lore! Do you mean that in our day The Christ hath past away; That nothing now is divine In the fierce rays that shine Through every cranny and thought; That Christ as he once was taught Shall be the Christ no more? That the Hope and Savior of men Shall be seen no more again; That, miracles being done, Gone is the Holy One? And thus, you hold, this Christ For the past alone sufficed; From the throne of the hearts of the world The Son of God shall be hurled, And henceforth must be sought New prophets and kings of thought; That the tenderest, truest word The heart of sorrow hath heard Shall sound no more upon earth; That he who hath made of birth A dread and sacred rite; Who hath brought to the eyes of death A vision of heavenly light, Shall fade with our failing faith; 178 TWO WORLDS He who saw in children s eyes Eternal paradise; Who made the poor man s lowly Labor a service holy, And sweat of work more sweet Than incense at God s feet; Who turned the God of Fear To a father, bending near; Who looked through shame and sin At the sanctity within; Whose memory, since he died, The earth hath sanctified Hath been the stay and the hold Of millions of lives untold, And the world on its upward path Hath led from crime and wrath ; You say that this Christ hath past And we cannot hold him fast? n Ah, no! If the Christ you mean Shall pass from this time, this scene, These hearts, these lives of ours, T is but as the summer flowers Pass, but return again, To gladden a world of men. For he, the only, the true, In each age, in each waiting heart, Leaps into life anew; Tho he pass, he shall not depart. Behold him now where he comes! Not the Christ of our subtile creeds, But the lord of our hearts, of our homes, THE PASSING OF CHRIST 179 Of our hopes, our prayers, our needs; The brother of want and blame, The lover of women and men, With a love that puts to shame All passions of mortal ken; Yet of all of woman born His is the scorn of scorn; Before whose face do fly Lies, and the love of a lie; Who from the temple of God And the sacred place of laws Drives forth, with smiting rod, The herds of ravening maws. T is he, as none other can, Makes free the spirit of man, And speaks, in darkest night, One word of awful light That strikes through the dreadful pain Of life, a reason sane That word divine which brought The universe from naught. Ah, no, thou life of the heart, Never shalt thou depart ! Not till the leaven of God Shall lighten each human clod; Not till the world shall climb To thy hight serene, sublime, Shall the Christ who enters our door Pass to return no more. l8o TWO WORLDS CREDO How easily my neighbor chants his creed, Kneeling beside me in the House of God. His "I believe" he chants, and "I believe," With cheerful iteration and consent Watching meantime the white, slow sunbeam move Across the aisle, or listening to the bird Whose free, wild song sounds through the open door. Thou God supreme I too, I too, believe ! But O, forgive, if this one human word, Binding the deep and breathless thought of Thee And my own conscience with an iron band, Stick in my throat. I cannot say it, thus This "I believe" that doth Thyself obscure; This rod to smite; this barrier; this blot On Thy most unimaginable face And soul of majesty. T is not man s faith In Thee that he proclaims in echoed phrase, But faith in man; faith not in Thine own Christ, But in another man s dim thought of him. Christ of Judea, look thou in my heart! Do I not love thee, look to thee, in thee Alone have faith of all the sons of men Faith deepening with the weight and woe of years. Pure soul and tenderest of all that came Into this world of sorrow, hear my prayer: Lead me, yea, lead me deeper into life, This suffering, human life wherein thou liv st NON SINE DOLORE l8l And breathest still, and hold st thy way divine. T is here, O pitying Christ, where thee I seek, Here where the strife is fiercest; where the sun Beats down upon the highway thronged with men, And in the raging mart. O ! deeper lead My soul into the living world of souls Where thou dost move. But lead me, Man Divine, Where er thou will st, only that I may find At the long journey s end thy image there, And grow more like to it. For art not thou The human shadow of the infinite Love That made and fills the endless universe ! The very Word of Him, the unseen, unknown Eternal Good that rules the summer flower And all the worlds that people starry space ! NON SINE DOLORE i WHAT, then, is Life, what Death? Thus the Answerer saith; O faithless mortal, bend thy head and listen: Down o er the vibrant strings, That thrill, and moan, and mourn, and glisten, The Master draws his bow. A voiceless pause; then upward, see, it springs, Free as a bird with disimprisoned wings! In twain the chord was cloven, While, shaken with woe, With breaks of instant joy all interwoven, Piercing the heart with lyric knife, 1 82 TWO WORLDS On, on the ceaseless music sings, Restless, intense, serene ; Life is the downward stroke; the upward, Life; Death but the pause between. II Then spake the Questioner : If t were only this, Ah, who could face the abyss That plunges steep athwart each human breath? If the new birth of Death Meant only more of Life as mortals know it, What priestly balm, what song of highest poet. Could heal one sentient soul s immitigable pain? All, all were vain! If, having soared pure spirit at the last, Free from the impertinence and warp of flesh, We find half joy, half pain, on every blast; Are caught again in closer-woven mesh Ah! who would care to die From out these fields and hills, and this familiar sky; These firm, sure hands that compass us, this dear human ity? m Again the Answerer saith: O ye of little faith, Shall, then, the spirit prove craven, And Death s divine deliverance but give A summer rest and haven ? By all most noble in us, by the light that streams Into our waking dreams, Ah, we who know what Life is, let us live! Clearer and freer, who shall doubt? Something of dust and darkness cast forever out; NON SINE DOLORE 183 But Life, still Life, that leads to higher Life, Even tho the highest be not free from the immortal strife. The highest! Soul of man, O, be thou bold, And to the brink of thought draw near, behold! Where, on the earth s green sod, Where, where in all the universe of God, Hath strife forever ceased? When hath not some great orb flashed into space The terror of its doom ? When hath no human face Turned earthward in despair, For that some horrid sin had stampt its image there? If at our passing Life be Life increased, And we ourselves flame pure unfettered soul, Like the Eternal Power that made the whole And lives in all He made From shore of matter to the unknown spirit shore; If, sire to son, and tree to limb, Cycle on countless cycle more and more We grow to be like Him; If He lives on, serene and unafraid, Through all His light, His love, His living thought, One with the sufferer, be it soul or star; If He escape not pain, what beings that are Can e er escape while Life leads on and up the unseen way and far? If He escape not, by whom all was wrought, Then shall not we, Whate er of godlike solace still may be, For in all worlds there is no Life without a pang, and can be naught. No Life without a pang! It were not Life, 184 TWO WORLDS If ended were the strife Man were not man, nor God were truly God! See from the sod The lark thrill skyward in an arrow of song: Even so from pain and wrong Upsprings the exultant spirit, wild and free. He knows not all the joy of liberty Who never yet was crusht neath heavy woe. He doth not know, Nor can, the bliss of being brave Who never hath faced death, nor with unquailing eye hath measured his own grave. Courage, and pity, and divinest scorn Self-scorn, self-pity, and high courage of the soul; The passion for the goal; The strength to never yield tho all be lost All these are born Of endless strife; this is the eternal cost Of every lovely thought that through the portal Of human minds doth pass with following light. Blanch not, O trembling mortal! But with extreme and terrible delight Know thou the truth, Nor let thy heart be heavy with false ruth. No passing burden is our earthly sorrow That shall depart in some mysterious morrow. T is His one universe where er we are One changeless law from sun to viewless star. Were sorrow evil here, evil it were forever, Beyond the scope and help of our most keen endeavor. God doth not dote, His everlasting purpose shall not fail. Here where our ears are weary with the wail ODE 185 And weeping of the sufferers; there where the Pleiads float - Here, there, forever, pain most dread and dire Doth bring the intensest bliss, the dearest and most sure. T is not from Life aside, it doth endure Deep in the secret heart of all existence. It is the inward fire, The heavenly urge, and the divine insistence. Uplift thine eyes, O Questioner, from the sod! It were no longer Life, If ended were the strife; Man were not man, God were not truly God. PART VI ODE Read before the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard University, June 26, 1890. IN the white midday s full, imperious show What glorious colors hide from human sight ! But in the breathing pause twixt day and night Forth stream those prisoned splendors, glow on glow; Like billows on they pour And beat against the shore Of cloud-wrought cliffs high as the utmost dome, To die in purple waves that break on dawns to come. ii Divine, divine! O, breathe no earthlier word! Behold the western heavens how swift they flame With hues that bring to mortal language shame; 1 86 TWO WORLDS Swelling and pulsing like deep music heard On sacred summer eves When the loud organ grieves And thrills with lyric life the incensed air, While mid the pillared gloom the people bow in prayer. HI Now is it some huge bird with monstrous vans That through the sunset plies its shadowy way, Catching on outstretched pinions the last play Of failing tint celestial ! See ! it spans Darkly the fading west, And now its beamy crest Follows from sight the glittering, golden sun; And now one mighty wing-beat more, and all is done. IV But in those skyey spaces what dread change ! Thus have we seen the mortal turn immortal; So doth the day s soul die, as through death s portal The soul of man takes up its heavenward range. A million orbs endue The unfathomable blue Till, the long miracle of night withdrawn, The world beholds once more the miracle of dawn. Dawn, eve, and night, the iridescent seas, Bright moon, enlightening sun, and quivering stars, The midnight rose whose petals are the bars Of Boreal lights, the pomp of autumn trees, The pearl of curved shells, The prismy bow that swells Gainst stormy skies these witness, these are sign Of thee, O spirit of Beauty, eternal and divine! ODE 187 VI And fairer still than all, chief sign of all, The naked loveliness in Eden s bower, Whose flesh blusht back the tint of fruit and flower; Whose eye reflamed the starlight; who could call Father and friend the God That pluckt them from the sod; The Almighty s image, and Creation s hight; Whose deep souls mirrored clear the circling day and night. VII Spirit of Beauty ! neath thy joyful spell Man hath been ever; therefore doth each breeze Bring to his tranced ears glad melodies, Voices of birds, the brook s low, silvery bell, Wild music manifold, Which he hath power to hold His own enchanted harmonies among, That echo round the world the songs that nature sung. vm And thus all Beautiful in Holiness Doth Israel stand before the Eternal One; Striking his harp with rapt, angelic tone, Till tribes and nations the Unseen God confess; Knowing that only where His face makes white the air Could such seraphic song have mortal birth, One saving faith sublime to keep alive on earth. IX And therefore with most passionate desire And longing, man yearned ever to express Thy majesty, and light, and loveliness, 1 88 TWO WORLDS O Spirit of Beauty, unconsuming fire! Therefore by ancient Nile Rose the vast columned aisle, And on the Athenian Hill the wonder white Whose shattered glory is the world s supreme delight. So is it that to thy imperial shore, Bright Italy! the generations fly, Even but once to breathe, or e er they die, Where did a godlike race its soul outpour; Its birth divine revealing On glorious wall and ceiling, While dome and rhythmic statue, Beauty-wrought, Declare all human art is but what Heaven hath taught, XI Fair Italy ! whose dread and peerless hight The song is of the awful Ghibelline ! Poet! who mid the threefold dream divine Didst follow Art and Love to the Central Light! Tell us, O Dante! tell What thou dost know so well, That horror and death are but the shade and foil Of Beauty, deathless, godlike, with never scathe or soil. XII Spirit divine ! man falls upon the sod In awe of thee, in worship and amaze : Thou older than the mountains, or the blaze Of sunsets, or the sun; thou old as God; As God who did create Long ere man reached his state All shapes of natural Beauty that men see, And His wide universe did dedicate to thee. TO ROSAMOND 189 XIII Ye who bear on the torch of living art In this new world, saved for some wondrous fate, Deem not that ye have come, alas, too late, But haste right forward with unfailing heart ! Ye shall not rest forlorn; Behold, even now, the morn Rises in splendor from the orient sea, And the new world shall greet a new divinity. XIV Shall greet, ah, who can -say! a nobler face Than from the foam of Cytherean seas: Loveliness lovelier; mightier harmonies Of song and color; an intenser grace; Beauty that shall endure Like Charis, heavenly-pure; A Spirit solemn as the starry night. And full as the triumphant dawn of golden light. AFTER-SONG TO ROSAMOND ROSE of the world, Bloom of the year, Birth of the dawn! By morn s one star Lighted to life!- Thou and my songs Come to the day Hand claspt in hand. 1 9O TWO WORLDS Flung on this page May the glow of thy name Back through each song Shine with the light Drawn from the skies Thou birth of the dawn, Flower of the morn, Rose of the world 1 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE AND OTHER POEMS THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE AND OTHER POEMS PART I - THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Read at the Annual Reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, Faneuil Hall, Boston, June 27, 1893. COMRADES, the circle narrows, heads grow white, As once more by the camp-fire s flaring light We gather and clasp hands, as we have done These many, many years. So long ago A part we were of all that glorious show, Stood, side by side, neath the red battle-sun, So long ago we breathed war s thunderous breath, Knew the white fury of that life-in-death, So long ago that troubled joy, it seems The valorous pageant might resolve to splendid dreams. But no ! Too deep t is burned into the brain ! As well were lightning-scar by summer rain Washed clean away, when stroke on blinding stroke Hath torn the rock, and riven the blackened oak. How oft as down these peaceful streets we pass All vanishes save, lo ! the rutted grass, Wreckt caissons, frightened beasts, and, merciful God ! The piteous burden of the ensanguined sod! Yet not all terror doth the memory save From war s emblazonry and open grave: In glimpses, flashing like a meteor s light, IQ4 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE A silent army marches through the night; The guidons flutter in a golden valley Where, at the noonday halt, the horsemen dally; Or, look! a thousand tents gleam through the black; Or, now, where quick-built camp-fires flame and crack, From blaze to shade men stretch o erwearied limbs, Chant songs, or wake the hills with chorused hymns; Or, ere the dawn makes pale the starry dark, The fiery signals, spark on trailing spark, Write on the silent sky their still command, While the great army moves, drawn by a single hand. So long ago it seems, so long ago, Behold, our sons, grown men since those great days, Born since the last clear bugle ceased to blow Its summons down the valley; since the bays Shook with the roar of fort and answering fleet, Our very children look into our eyes And find strange records, with a mute surprise; As they some curious traveler might greet Who kept far countries in his musing mind, Beyond the weltering seas, the mountain-walls behind. And yet it was this land and not another, Where blazed war s flame and rolled the battle-cloud. In all this land there was no home where brother, Father, or son hurried not forth; where bowed No broken-hearted woman when pale Death Laid his cold finger on the loved one s breath. Like to a drama did the scene unroll Some dark, majestic drama of the soul, Wherein all strove as actors, hour by hour, Yet breathless watched the whole swift, tragic play. Faithful did each his little part essay, THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 195 Urged to an end unknown by one all-knowing Power; While if the drama pauses, now and then, On the huge stage, t is for a moment only Here at the heart or in some vista lonely, A single hero or a million men, And with the tragic theme the world resounds again. First, in the awful waiting came the shock, The shame unbearable, the sacred flag assailed Assailed in freedom s name by those who freedom mock! Ah, then the oath, to stand as stands the rock Gainst flood and tempest, lest that flag be trailed And torn, or any star therefrom be lost The oath, murmured alone, or where the crowd, As by a wind of heaven swept and tost, Passioned its soul to God, and strong men wept aloud. Then sweet farewell; O bitter-sweet farewell; O brave farewell ! Who were the bravest then, Or they who went, or waited women or men ? They who the cheers heard, or the funeral knell ? They who stept proudly to the rattling drum, Inflamed by war s divine delirium, Or they who knew no mad joy of the fight, And yet breathed on through waiting day and weeping night ? Farewell and forward! O, to live it over, The first wild heart-beat of heroic hours! Forward, like mountain-torrents after showers! Forward to death, as to his bride the lover! Forward, till quick recoils the impetuous flood, And ends the first dread scene in terror and in blood! Onward once more, through sun and shivering storm, A monstrous length with wavering bulk enorm, Wounded or striking, bringing blood or bleeding, 196 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Onward, still on, the agony unheeding! Onward with failing heart, or courage high ! Onward through heat, and hunger, and dismay, Turning the starry night to murderous day! Onward, with hope appalled, once more to strike, and die! So marched, so fought, so agonized, the hosts; Battling through forests; rotting where slow crawls The deathly swamp-stream; and like pallid ghosts Haunting the hospitals, and loathed prison-walls. They knew what freedom was, and right to breathe Clean air who burrowed from the filth and seethe Of foulest pens, only that dogs might track, And to the death-pit drag their living corpses back. O, would to Heaven some sights could fade from out Clear memory s all too melancholy page Fade and be gone forever! Let the shout Of victory only linger, and the rage And glory of battle over land and sea, And all that noblest is in war s fierce pageantry. Echoes of deeds immortal, O, awake! Tremble to language, into music break, Till lyric memory takes the old emotion, And leaps from heart to heart the ancient thrill! Tell of great deeds that yet the wide earth fill : How first upon the amazed waves of ocean The black, infernal, deadly armored-ships Together rushed, and all the world stood still, While a new word of war burst from those iron lips; How up the rivers thundered the strong fleets; How the great captains gainst each other dashed Gigantic armies. What wild welcome meets Some well-loved chief who, ere those armies clashed, THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 197 Rides like a whirlwind the embattled line, Kindling the stricken ranks to bravery divine ! And, hark, at set of sun, the cheer that greets Victorious news from far-off armies, flashed From camp to camp, with roar on answering roar, Like bellowing waves that track the tempest down the shore. But chiefly tell of that one hour of all When threatening war rolled highest its full tide, Even to the perilous northern mountain-side Where Heaven should bid our good cause rise or fall. Tell of that hour, for never in all the world Was braver army gainst a braver hurled. To both the victory, all unawares, Beyond all dreams of losing or of winning; For the new land which now is ours and theirs, Had on that topmost day its glorious beginning. They who charged up that drenched and desperate slope Were heroes all and looked in heroes eyes! Ah ! heroes never heroes did despise ! That day had Strife its bloodiest bourn and scope; Above the shaken hills and sulphurous skies Peace lifted up her mournful head and smiled on Hope. Rushed the great drama on its tragic way Swift to the happy end from that tremendous day. Happy, indeed, could memory lose her power And yield to joy alone the glad, triumphant hour; Happy if every aching heart could shun Remembrance of the unreturning one; If at the Grand Review, when mile on mile And day on day the marching columns past, Darkened not o er the world the shadow vast Of his foul murder he the free from guile, 198 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Sad-hearted, loving, and beloved, and wise, Who ruled with sinewy hands and dreaming eyes. What soul that lived then who remembers not The hour, the landscape, ah ! the very spot, Hateful for aye, where news that he was slain Struck like a hammer on the dazed brain! So long ago it was, so long ago, All, all have past; the terror and the splendor Have turned like yester-evening s stormy glow Into a sunset memory strange and tender. How beautiful it seems, what lordly sights, What deeds sublime, what wondrous days and nights, What love of comrades, ay, what quickened breath, When first we knew that, startled, quailing, still We too, even we, along the blazing hill, We, with the best, could face and conquer death ! Glorious all these, but these all less than naught To the one passion of those days divine, Love of the land our own hearts blood had bought Our country, our own country, yours and mine. Then known, then sternly loved, first in our lives. Ah! loved we not our children, sisters, wives? But our own country, this was more than they, Our wives, our children, this, our hope, our love For all most dear, but more the dawning day Of freedom for the world, the hope above All hope for the sad race of man. For where, In what more lovely world, neath skies more fair, If freedom here should fail, could it find soil and air? In this one thought, one passion, whate er fate Still may befall, one moment we were great ! One moment in life s brief, perplexed hour THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 199 We climbed the hight of being, and the power That falls alone on those who love their kind A moment made us one with the Eternal Mind. One moment, ah ! not so, dear Country ! Thou Art still our passion ; still to thee we bow In love supreme! Fairer than e er before Art thou to-day, from golden shore to shore The home of freemen. Not one stain doth cling Now to thy banner. Argosies of war On thy imperial rivers bravely fling Flags of the nations, but no message bring Save of peace only; while, behold, from far The Old World comes to greet thy natal star That with the circling century returns, And in the Western heavens with fourfold beauty burns. Land that we love! Thou Future of the World! Thou refuge of the noble heart opprest! O, never be thy shining image hurled From its high place in the adoring breast Of him who worships thee with jealous love ! Keep thou thy starry forehead as the dove All white, and to the eternal Dawn inclined! Thou art not for thyself but for mankind, And to despair of thee were to despair Of man, of man s high destiny, of God! Of thee should man despair, the journey trod Upward, through unknown eons, stair on stair, By this our race, with bleeding feet and slow, Were but the pathway to a darker woe Than yet was visioned by the heavy heart Of prophet. To despair of thee ! Ah, no ! For thou thyself art Hope, Hope of the World thou art ! 200 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Comrades beloved, see, the fire burns low, And darkness thickens. Soon shall our brief part On earth forever end, and we shall go To join the unseen ranks; nor will we swerve Or fear, when to the silent, great reserve At last we ordered are as one by one Our Captains have been called, their labors done, To rest and wait in the Celestial Field. Ay, year by year, we to the dead did yield Our bravest. Them we followed to the tomb Sorrowing ; for they were worthy of our love High-souled and generous, loving peace above War and its glories: therefore lives no gloom In this our sorrow; rather pride, and praise, And gratitude, and memory of old days. A little while and these tired hands will cease To lift obedient or in war or peace Faithful we trust in peace as once in war; And on the scroll of peace some triumphs are Noble as battles won; tho less resounds The fame, as deep and bitter are the wounds. But now the fire burns low, and we must sleep Erelong, while other eyes than ours the vigil keep. And after we are gone, to other eyes That watch below shall come, in starry skies, A fairer dawn, whereon in fiery light The Eternal Captain shall his signals write; And shaken from rest, and gazing at that sign, On shall the mighty Nation move, led by a hand divine. THE WHITE CITY 2OI PART II "THE WHITE CITY" (THE COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION) i GREECE was; Greece is no more. Temple and town Have crumbled down; Time is the fire that hath consumed them all. Statue and wall In ruin strew the universal floor. Greece lives, but Greece no more! Its ashes breed The undying seed Blown westward till, in Rome s imperial towers, Athens reflowers; Still westward lo, a veiled and virgin shore ! in Say not, " Greece is no more." Through the clear morn On light winds borne Her white-winged soul sinks on the New World s breast. Ah ! happy West Greece flowers anew, and all her temples soar! IV One bright hour, then no more Shall to the skies These columns rise. 202 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE But tho art s flower shall fade, again the seed Onward shall speed, Quickening the land from lake to ocean s roar. v Art lives, tho Greece may never From the ancient mold As once of old Exhale to heaven the inimitable bloom; Yet from that tomb Beauty walks forth to light the world forever! THE VANISHING CITY ENRAPTURED memory, and all ye powers of being, To new life waken ! Stamp the vision clear On the soul s inmost substance. O, let seeing Be more than seeing; let the entranced ear Take deep these surging sounds, inweaved with light Of unimagined radiance; let the intense Illumined loveliness that thrills the night Strike in the human heart some deeper sense! So shall these domes that meet heaven s curved blue, And yon long, white, imperial colonnade, And many-columned peristyle, endue The mind with beauty that shall never fade; Tho all too soon to dark oblivion wending Reared in one happy hour to know as swift an ending. ii Thou shalt of all the cities of the world Famed for their grandeur, evermore endure Imperishably and all alone impearled In the world s living thought, the one most sure THE VANISHING CITY 203 Of love undying and of endless praise For beauty only chief of all thy kind ; Immortal, even because of thy brief days; Thou cloud-built, fairy city of the mind! Here man doth pluck from the full tree of life The latest, lordliest flower of earthly art; This doth he breathe, while resting from his strife, This presses he against his weary heart; Then, wakening from his dream within a dream, He flings the faded flower on Time s down-rushing stream. in O, never as here in the eternal years Hath burst to bloom man s free and soaring spirit, Joyous, untrammeled, all untouched by tears And the dark weight of woe it doth inherit. Never so swift the mind s imaginings Caught sculptured form, and color. Never before, Save where the soul beats unembodied wings Gainst viewless skies, was such enchanted shore Jeweled with ivory palaces like these : By day a miracle, a dream by night; Yet real as beauty is, and as the seas Whose waves glance back keen lines of glittering light When million lamps, and coronets of fire, And fountains as of flame, to the bright stars aspire. IV Glide, magic boat, from out the green lagoon, Neath the dark bridge, into this smiting glow And unthought glory. Even the glistening moon Hangs in the nearer splendor. Let not go The scene, my soul, till ever t is thine own! This is Art s citadel and crown. How still 204 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE The innumerous multitudes from every zone, That watch and listen; while each eye doth fill With joyous tears unwept. Now solemn strains Of brazen music give the waiting soul Voice and a sigh it other speech disdains, Here where the visual sense faints to its goall Ah, silent multitudes, ye are a part Of the wise architect s supreme and glorious art! O joy almost too high for saddened mortal! O ecstasy envisioned! Thou shouldst be Lasting as thou art lovely; as immortal As through all time the matchless thought of thee ! Yet would we miss, then, the sweet, piercing pain Of thy inconstancy ! Could we but banish This haunting pang, ah, then thou wouldst not reign One with the golden sunset that doth vanish Through myriad lingering tints down melting skies; Nor the pale mystery of the New World flower That blooms once only, then forever dies Pouring a century s wealth on one dear hour. Then vanish, City of Dream, and be no more; Soon shall this fair Earth s self be lost on the unknown shore. THE TOWER OF FLAME (THE COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION, JULY IO, 1893) HERE for the world to see men brought their fairest, Whatever of beauty is in all the earth; The priceless flower of art, the loveliest, rarest, Here by our inland ocean came to glorious birth. LOWELL 2O5 Yet on this day of doom a strange new splendor Shed its celestial light on all men s eyes: Flower of the hero-soul, consummate, tender, That from the tower of flame sprang to the eternal skies. LOWELL FROM the shade of the elms that murmured above thy birth Anfl the pines that sheltered thy life and shadowed the end, Neath the white-blue skies thee to thy rest we bore, Neath the summer skies thou didst love, mid the songs of thy birds, By thy childhood s stream, neath the grass and the flowers thou knewest, Near the grave of the singer whose name with thine own is enlaureled, By the side of the brave who live in thy deathless song, Here all that was mortal of thee we left, with our tears, With our love, and our grief that could not be quenched or abated; For even the part that was mortal, sweet friend and com panion ! That face, and that figure of beauty, and flashing eye Which in youth shone forth like a god s mid lesser men, And in gray-haired, strenuous age still glowed and lus- tered, These, too, were dear to us, blame us not, soaring spirit ! These, too, were dear, and now we shall never behold them, Nor ever shall feel the quick clasp of thy welcoming hand. 206 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE II But not for ourselves alone are we spent in grieving, For the stricken Land we mourn whose light is darkened, Whose soul in sorrow went forth in the night-time with thine. Lover and laureate thou of the wide New World, Whose pines, and prairies, and people, and teeming soil, Where was shaken of old the seed of the freedom of men, Thou didst love as a strong man loveth the maiden he woos, Not the woman he toys with, and sings to, and, passing, forgets, Whom he woos, whom he wins, whom he weds; his pas sion, his pride; Who no shadow of wrong shall suffer, who shall stand in his sight Pure as the sky of the evil her foeman may threat, Save by word or by thought of her own in her whiteness untouched And wounded alone of the lightning her spirit engenders. m Take of thy grief new strength, new life, O Land! Weep no more he is lost, but rejoice and be glad forever That thy lover who died was born, for thy pleasure, thy glory While his love and his fame light ever thy climbing path. August 14, 1891. THE SILENCE OF TENNYSON WHEN that great shade into the silence vast Through thinking silence past; When he, our century s soul and voice, was husht, A HERO OF PEACE 207 We who, appalled, bowed, crusht, Within the holy moonlight of his death Waited the parting breath; Ah, not in song Might we our grief prolong. Silence alone, O golden spirit fled ! Silence alone could mourn that silence dread. ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN PHILLIPS BROOKS WHEN from this mortal scene A great soul passes to the vast unknown, Let not in hopeless grief the spirit groan. Death comes to all, the mighty and the mean. If by that death the whole world suffer loss, This be the proof (and lighter thus our cross), That he for whom the world doth sorely grieve Greatly hath blessed mankind in that he once did live. Then, at the parting breath Let men praise Life, nor idly blame dark Death. A HERO OF PEACE IN MEMORY OF ROBERT ROSS: SHOT MARCH 6, 1894 "No bugle on the blast Calls warriors face to face; Grim battle being forever past, Gone is the hero-race." Ah, no ! there is no peace ! If liberty shall live, Never may freemen dare to cease Their love, their life to give. 208 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Unto the patriot s heart The silent summons comes; Not braver he who does his part To the sound of beating drums. And thou who gavest youth, And life, and all most dear; Sweet soul, impassionate of truth, White on thy murdered bier ! Thy deed, thy date, thy name Are wreathed with deathless flowers. Thy fate shall be the guiding flame That lights to nobler hours. WASHINGTON AT TRENTON THE BATTLE MONUMENT, OCTOBER IQ, 1893 SINCE ancient Time began, Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden The weight of all this world, the hopes of man. Conflict and pain, and fame immortal are his guerdon! And this the unfaltering token Of him, the Deliverer what tho tempests beat, Tho all else fail, tho bravest ranks be broken, He stands unscared, alone, nor ever knows defeat. Such was that man of men; And if are praised all virtues, every fame Most noble, highest, purest then, ah ! then, Upleaps in every heart the name none needs to name. Ye who defeated, whelmed, Betray the sacred cause, let go the trust; A MONUMENT BY SAINT-GAUDENS 209 Sleep, weary, while the vessel drifts unhelmed; Here see in triumph rise the hero from the dust ! All ye who fight forlorn Gainst fate and failure; ye who proudly cope With evil high enthroned; all ye who scorn Life from Dishonor s hand, here take new heart of hope. Here know how Victory borrows For the brave soul a front as of disaster, And from the bannered East what glorious morrows For all the blackness of the night speed surer, faster. Know by this pillared sign For what brief while the powers of earth and hell Can war against the spirit of truth divine, Or can against the heroic heart of man prevail. FAME FAME is an honest thing, It is deceived not; It passes by the palace gates Where the crowned usurper waits, Enters the peasant-poet s cot And cries: "Thou art the king!" A MONUMENT BY SAINT-GAUDENS THIS is not Death, nor Sorrow, nor sad Hope; Nor Rest that follows strife. But, O, more dread! T is Life, for all its agony serene; Immortal, and unmournful, and content. 210 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN HE of the ocean is, its thunderous waves Echo his music; while far down the shore Mad laughter hurries a white, blowing spume. I hear again in memory that wild storm; The winds of heaven go rushing round the world, And broods above the rage one sphinx-like face. PADEREWSKI IF songs were perfume, color, wild desire; If poet s words were fire That burned to blood in purple-pulsing veins; If with a bird-like thrill the moments throbbed to hours; If summer s rains Turned drop by drop to shy, sweet, maiden flowers; If God made flowers with light and music in them, And saddened hearts could win them; If loosened petals touched the ground With a caressing sound; If love s eyes uttered word No listening lover e er before had heard; If silent thoughts spake with a bugle s voice; If flame passed into song and cried, " Rejoice ! Rejoice ! " If words could picture life s, hope s, heaven s eclipse When the last kiss has fallen on dying eyes and lips; If all of mortal woe Struck on one heart with breathless blow on blow; If melody were tears, and tears were starry gleams That shone in evening s amethystine dreams; Ah, yes, if notes were stars, each star a different hue, Trembling to earth in dew; HANDEL S LARGO 211 Or if the boreal pulsings, rose and white, Made a majestic music in the night; If all the orbs lost in the light of day In the deep, silent blue began their harps to play; And when in frightening skies the lightnings flashed And storm-clouds crashed, If every stroke of light and sound were but excess of beauty ; If human syllables could e er refashion That fierce electric passion; If other art could match (as were the poet s duty) The grieving, and the rapture, and the thunder Of that keen hour of wonder, That light as if of heaven, that blackness as of hell, How the great master plays then might I dare to tell. How the great master plays! And was it he Or some disbodied spirit which had rushed From silence into singing; and had crushed Into one startled hour a life s felicity, And highest bliss of knowledge -/ that all pain, grief, wrong, Turn at the last to beauty and to song ! } HANDEL S LARGO WHEN the great organs, answering each to each, Joined with the violin s celestial speech, Then did it seem that all the heavenly host Gave praise to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost : We saw the archangels through the ether winging; We heard their souls go forth in solemn singing; "Praise, praise to God," they sang, "through endless days, 212 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Praise to the Eternal One, and naught but praise"; And as they sang the spirits of the dying Were upward borne from lips that ceased their sighing; And dying was not death, but deeper living Living, and prayer, and praising and thanksgiving! THE STAIRWAY BY this stairway narrow, steep, Thou shalt climb from song to sleep; From sleep to dream and song once more ; Sleep well, sweet friend, sleep well, dream deep! THE ACTOR GLORIOUS that ancient art ! In thine own form to show the fire and fashion Of every age and clime, of every passion That dwells in man s deep heart ! Player, play well, not meanly, Thy part in life, as on the mimic stage! From highest thought is born art s noblest rage: Live, act, end all, serenely! THE STRICKEN PLAYER WHEN at life s last the stricken player lies, When throng before his darkened, dreaming eyes His soul s companions, which more real then The human comrades, the live women and men Of the large world he knew, or the ideal Imagined creatures his own art made real; Wherein he poured his spirit s very being, His soul and body? Are those dim eyes seeing AN AUTUMN DIRGE 213 Himself as one of Shakespeare s men ? Are maids And queens he wooed, the kings he was, or knew Upon the tragic stage, are these the shades That now his visionary hours pursue, Attendant on his passing? Listen near! What breathed murmurs scape those pallid lips To which the nations hearkened, ere the eclipse Of all that brightness? Now lean close and hear; Ah, see that look, sweeter than when he smiled Upon the applauding world, while she draws near And hears a dear voice whisper: "Child, my Child 1" AN AUTUMN DIRGE (E. F. H.) i O EASE my heart, sad song, O ease my heart! In all this autumn pageantry no part Hath sorrow ! Woods, and fields, and meadows glow With jeweled colors. All alone I go Amid the poignant beauty of the year, Too heavy-hearted for one easeful tear. For she who loved this autumn splendor, These flaming marsh-flowers, oak-leaves rich and ten der, And who in loving all, made all to me more dear, No more is here; No more, no more is here ! Sad song, O, bring some thought With music from some happy memory caught! No light for me in all the lovely day Those eyes being shut that first did lead the way Neath these great pines whose green vault hides the sky, And down the rock-strewn shore where the white sea- birds cry ! 214 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE II All fades but those young, happy hours, And in my soul once more the old joy flowers. It flowers once more only to bring new pain; For all in vain, O song! thou singest in my grieving heart! Thou hast no art To bring again the smile I loved so well, The voice that like a bell Sounded all moods of sorrow and of laughter, And the dear presence that in childhood s earliest thought, And all the bright or darkened days thereafter, Into my life a saddened sweetness brought Something of mother and of sister love, A friendship far above The ties that bind and loosen as we tread The thronged pleasures of life s later days. Sweet maiden soul, I cannot praise But mourn thee, mourn thee, to the shadows fled. in Shadows, O nevermore! For when past forth thy spirit it did seem As if against the black a golden door Were opened and a gleam From the eternal Light fell on thy face And made a visible glory in the place. Ah, well I know Whatever be the source from whence we flow, Whate er the power begot these hearts of ours, As the great earth brings forth the summer flowers, That power is good, is God, and in her dying room Humaned itself to sense and lightened all the gloom. AT NIAGARA 215 ELEONORA DUSE IF ever flashed upon this mortal scene A soul unsheathed, a pale, trembling flame, That suffered every gust, and yet did cling With fire unquenchable it is thine own, Thou artist of the real! Unto thee No mirth of life is secret; but, sweet soul, With what sure art thou picturest human woe! How natural tears to those Italian eyes Shadowing in untold depths whatever grief Familiar is to mortals! KELP ROCK (E. c. s.) ROCK S the song-soil, truly (So sang one bard of power) ; Therefore our poet duly Built on this rock his tower; And therefore in his singing We breathe the salty morning; We hear the storm-bell ringing, The "siren s" piercing warning, The sea-winds roaring, sighing, The long waves rising, falling; We hear the herons calling, The clashing waves replying. AT NIAGARA i THERE at the chasm s edge behold her lean Trembling as, neath the charm, A wild bird lifts no wing to scape from harm; 2l6 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green, Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril; While far below the bending sea of beryl Thunder and tumult whence a billowy spray Enclouds the day. ii What dream is hers? No dream hath wrought that spell! The long waves rise and sink ; Pity that virgin soul on passion s brink, Confronting Fate, swift, unescapable, Fate, which of nature is the intent and core, And dark and strong as the steep river s pour, Cruel as love, and wild as love s first kiss! Ah, God! the abyss! THE CHILD-GARDEN IN the child-garden buds and blows A blossom lovelier than the rose. If all the flowers of all the earth In one garden broke to birth, Not the fairest of the fair Could with this sweet bloom compare; Nor would all their shining be Peer to its lone bravery. Fairer than the rose, I say? Fairer than the sun-bright day In whose rays all glories show, All beauty is, all blossoms blow; THE CHRIST-CHILD 217 While beside it deeply shine Blooms that take its light divine: The perilous sweet flower of Hope Here its hiding eyes doth ope, And Gentleness doth near uphold Its healing leaves and heart of gold; Here tender fingers push the seed Of Knowledge; pluck the poisonous weed; Here blossoms Joy one singing hour, And here of Love the immortal flower. What this blossom, fragrant, tender, That outbeams the rose s splendor Purer is, more tinct with light Than the lily s flame of white? Of beauty hath this flower the whole, And its name the Human Soul ! THE CHRIST-CHILD A PICTURE BY FRANK VINCENT DU MOND DONE is the day of care. Into the shadowy room Flows the pure evening light, To stem the gathering gloom, The lily s flame illume, And the bowed heads make bright The heads bowed low in prayer. 2l8 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE See how the level rays Through the white garments pour Of the holy child, who stands, With bending brow, to implore Grace on the toilers store; O, see those sinless hands! Behold, the Christ-child prays! Wait, wait, ye lingering rays, Stand still, O Earth and Sun, Draw near, thou Soul of God This is the suffering one ! Already the way is begun The pierced Savior trod; And now the Christ-child prays, The holy Christ-child prays. A CHILD HER voice was like the song of birds; Her eyes were like the stars; Her little waving hands were like Bird s wings that beat the bars. And when those waving hands were still, Her soul had fled away, The music faded from the air, The color from the day. TWO VALLEYS YES, tis a glorious sight, This valley, that mountain hight. The river plunges and roars Like the loud sea on its shores WASHINGTON SQUARE 2 19 What time in waves enorm Breaks the gigantic storm. The wooded mount doth climb To a thought intense, sublime. The glory of all I feel; But my heart, my heart, will steal Down the journey of years, Through the lands of laughter and tears, Far back to the least of valleys Where a slow brook curves and dallies, Where a boy, in the twilight gleam, Walks alone with his dream. ON THE BAY THIS watery vague how vast ! This misty globe, Seen from this center where the ferry plies, It plies, but seems to poise in middle air, Soft gray below gray heavens, and in the west A rose-gray memory of the sunken sun; And, where gray water touches grayer sky, A band of darker gray prickt out with lights A diamond-twinkling circlet bounding all; And where the statue looms, a quenchless star; And where the lighthouse, a red, pulsing flame; While the great bridge its starry diadem Lifts through the gray, itself in grayness lost! WASHINGTON SQUARE THIS is the end of the town that I love the best. O, lovely the hour of light from the burning west 220 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Of light that lingers and fades in the shadowy square Where the solemn fountain lifts a shaft in the air To catch the skyey colors, and fling them down In a wild-wood torrent that drowns the noise of the town. And lovely the hour of the still and dreamy night When, lifted against the blue, stands the arch of white With one clear planet above; and the sickle moon, In curve reversed from the arch s marble round, Silvers the sapphire sky. Now soon, ah,. soon, Shall the city square be turned to holy ground, Through the light of the moon and the stars and the glowing flower, The Cross of Light, that looms from the sacred tower. THE CITY O, DEAR is the song of the pine When the wind of the night-time blows, And dear is the murmuring river That afar through my childhood flows; And soft is the raindrop s beat And the fountain s lyric play, But to me no music is half so sweet As the thunder of Broadway! Stream of the living world Where dash the billows of strife ! One plunge in the mighty torrent Is a year of tamer life! City of glorious days, Of hope, and labor, and mirth, With room, and to spare, on thy splendid bays For the ships of all the earth! A RHYME OF TYRINGHAM 221 A RHYME OF TYRINGHAM DOWN in the meadow and up on the hight The breezes are blowing the willows white. In the elms and maples the robins call, And the great black crow sails over all In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. The river winds through the trees and the brake And the meadow-grass like a shining snake; And low in the summer and loud in the spring The rapids and reaches murmur and sing In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. In the shadowy pools the trout are shy, So creep to the bank and cast the fly ! What thrills and tremors the tense cords stir When the trout it strikes with a tug and a whir In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley! At dark of the day the mist spreads white, Like a magic lake in the glimmering light ; Or the winds from the meadow the white mists blow, And the fireflies glitter, a sky below, In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. And O, in the windy days of the fall The maples and elms are scarlet all, And the world that was green is gold and red, And with huskings and cider they re late to bed In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. Now squirrel and partridge and hawk and hare And wildcat and woodchuck and fox beware! 222 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE The three days hunt is waxing warm For the Count Up Dinner at Riverside Farm In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. The meadow-ice will be freezing soon, And then for a skate by the light of the moon. So pile the wood on the hearth, my boy! Winter is coming! I wish you joy By the light of the hearth and the moon, my boy, In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. ELSIE "Do you love me?" Elsie asked, And her rose-leaf dimples masked Neath a pleading look, the while On her pouting lips a smile Hovered, yet was out of sight Like a star that s hid at night By a filmy, flying cloud. "Do you love me?" scarce aloud Lovely Cousin Elsie said. "Why no answer, Cousin Ed? Do you hate me, then, or why From Your Highness no reply?" So the chiding witch ran on: "In a moment I ll be gone; Then too late, Sir No Gallant ! Quick! I ll tell my precious aunt That you love me not," she cries, "That you hate me and despise." Flash the great, gray, long-lashed eyes; Half in earnest now the girl; Down the pretty corners curl AH, BE NOT FALSE 223 Of the tiny mouth, and lo! From those eyes two tearlets flow ; Just two kisses, and they go! Like a sunburst after showers, Like white light upon the flowers, Now again the dimples show. But she could not understand Why so long the answer waited For the loved and not the hated, While he held that little hand, And like a bird she sang and said, Half in earnest, half in fun, "Do you love me, Solemn One? Do you love me, Cousin Ed? Do you love me? Do you love me? Love me, love me, Cousin Ed?" INDIRECTION I SAW not the leaf But its shadow trembling, trembling down. I faced to northward, to my grief, When from the southern sky a crimson meteor lit the star-dark town. I saw not naked Love Lean from his porphyry throne above And touch her heart to flame, Yet on her brow I saw the swift, sweet, virgin shame. "AH, BE NOT FALSE" AH, be not false, sweet Splendor! Be true, be good; Be wise as thou art tender; Be all that Beauty should. 224 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Not lightly be thy citadel subdued; Not ignobly, not untimely. Take praise in solemn mood; Take love sublimely. THE ANSWER THROUGH starry space two angels dreamed their flight, Mid worlds and thoughts of worlds, through day and night. Then one spake forth whose voice was like the flower That blossoms in the fragrant midnight hour. This white-browed angel of the other asked: " Of all the essences that ever basked In the eternal presence; of all things, All thoughts, all joys, all dreads, all sorrowings Amid the unimaginable vast Being, or shall be, or forever past Profound with dark, or hid in endless light Which of all these most deep and infinite?" Then did the elder speak, the while he turned On him who asked clear eyes that slowly burned The spirit through, like to a living coal: "No depth there is so deep as woman s soul." HOW DEATH MAY MAKE A MAN DEATH is a sorry plight, It bringeth unto man End of all delight. Yet many a woeful wight Only dying can Quit him like a man. CAME TO A MASTER OF SONG 225 Dawdling, drawling, silly, Maundering, scarce a man; Driven willy-nilly; When he s dying will he Run as once he ran, Or quit him like a man? Vile from out the wrack Crawls he less than man; Cowering in his track Beaten, broken, black; Curse him if you can Death may make him man. In life the wretch did naught Worthy of a man; Now by Death he s caught, What a change is wrought! Whom the world did ban Quits life like a man. Braced stiff against the wall, Behold, at last, a man. Lost life and honor, all ! At Death s quick touch and call See, the craven can Quit him like a man. "CAME TO A MASTER OF SONG" CAME to a master of song And the human heart One who had followed him long And worshiped his art; 226 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE One whom the poet s singing Had lured from death, Joy to the crusht soul bringing And heaven s breath ; Came to him once in an hour Of terror and stress, And cried, " Thou alone hast power To save me and bless; Thou alone, pure heart and free, Canst pluck from disaster, If to a wretch like me Thou wilt stoop, O master!" Answered the bard with shame, And sorrow and trembling: "Was I false, was my song to blame? Was my art dissembling? I of all mortals the saddest, The quickest to fall, And song of mine highest and gladdest Repentance all!" BARDS SOME from books resound their rhymes Set them ringing with a faint, Sorrowful, and sweet, and quaint Memory of the olden times, Like the sound of evening chimes. Some go wandering on their way Through the forest, past the herds, Laughing maidens, singing birds; On their sylvan lutes they play Danceth by the lyric Day! MERIDIAN 227 Bards there be the deep sky under Who in high, authentic verse Mysteries and moods rehearse With a voice like Sinai s thunder, Chanting to a world of wonder. And those have sung whose melody, Drawn from out the living heart With a quick, unfaltering art, Hath power to make the listener cry: "God in heaven! It is I." MERIDIAN HENCEFORTH before these feet Sinks the downward way; A little while to greet The light and life of day, Then night s slow fall Ends all. Now forward, heart elate, Tho steep the pathway slope. Time yet for love and hate, Joy, and joy s comrade, hope, Ere night s slow fall Ends all. Still the warm sky is blue, No fleck the sunlight mars; Twixt hills the sea gleams through; With twilight come the stars; And night s slow fall Ends all. 228 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE In the cool-breathing night The starry sky is deep. Still on through glimmering light Till we lie down to sleep; Then let night s fall End all. EVENING IN TYRINGHAM VALLEY WHAT domes and pinnacles of mist and fire Are builded in yon spacious realms of light All silently, as did the walls aspire Templing the ark of God by day and night! Noiseless and swift, from darkening ridge to ridge, Through purple air that deepens down the day, Over the valley springs a shadowy bridge. The evening star s keen, solitary ray Makes more intense the silence, and the glad, Unmelancholy, restful, twilight gloom So full of tenderness, that even the sad Remembrances that haunt the soul take bloom Like that on yonder mountain. Now the bars > Of sunset all burn black; the day doth fail, And the skies whiten with the eternal stars. O, let thy spirit stay with me, sweet vale! PART III A WEEK S CALENDAR I NEW YEAR EACH New Year is a leaf of our love s rose; It falls, but quick another rose-leaf grows. So is the flower from year to year the same, But richer, for the dead leaves feed its flame. A WEEK S CALENDAR 229 II A NEW SOUL To see the rose of morning slow unfold Each wondrous petal to that heart of gold; To see from out the dark, unknowing night A new soul dawn with such undreamed-of light, And slowly all its loveliness and splendor Pour forth as stately music pours, magnificently tender! HI "KEEP PURE THY SOUL" KEEP pure thy soul ! Then shalt thou take the whole Of delight; Then, without a pang, Thine shall be all of beauty whereof the poet sang The perfume, and the pageant, the melody, the mirth Of the golden day, and the starry night; Of heaven, and of earth. O, keep pure thy soul! iv "THY MIND is LIKE A CRYSTAL BROOK" THY mind is like a crystal brook Wherein clean creatures live at ease, In sun-bright waves or shady nook. Birds sing above it, The warm-breathed cattle love it, It doth sweet childhood please. Accurst be he by whom it were undone, Or thing or thought whose presence The birds and beasts would loathly shun, Would make its crystal waters foully run, And drive sweet childhood from its pleasance. 230 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE V "ONE DEED MAY MAR A LIFE" ONE deed may mar a life, And one can make it; Hold firm thy will for strife, Lest a quick blow break it! Even now from far on viewless wing Hither speeds the nameless thing Shall put thy spirit to the test. Haply or e er yon sinking sun Shall drop behind the purple West All will be lost or won ! VI THE UNKNOWN How strange to look upon the life beyond Our human cognizance with so deep awe And haunting dread ; a sense as of remorse, A looking-for of judgment, a great weight Of things unknown to happen ! We who live Blindly from hour to hour in very midst Of mysteries; of shapeless, changing glooms; Of nameless terrors; issues vast and black; Of airy whims, slight fantasies, and flights That lead to unimaginable woe: The unweighed word cloying the life of love; One clod of earth outblotting all the stars; Some secret, dark inheritance of will, And the scared soul plunges to conscious doom ! Thou who hast wisdom, fear not Death, but Life ! VII IRREVOCABLE WOULD the gods might give Another field for human strife; Man must live one life SONGS 231 Ere he learns to live. Ah, friend, in thy deep grave, What now can change, what now can save? PART IV SONGS BECAUSE the rose must fade, Shall I not love the rose ? Because the summer shade Passes when winter blows, Shall I not rest me there In the cool air? Because the sunset sky Makes music in my soul, Only to fail and die, Shall I not take the whole Of beauty that it gives While yet it lives? Because the sweet of youth Doth vanish all too soon, Shall I forget, forsooth, To learn its lingering tune; My joy to memorize In those young eyes? If, like the summer flower That blooms a fragrant death. Keen music hath no power To live beyond its breath, 232 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Then of this flood of song Let me drink long! Ah, yes, because the rose Fades like the sunset skies; Because rude winter blows All bare, and music dies Therefore, now is to me Eternity! FADES the rose; the year grows old; The tale is told; Youth doth depart Only stays the heart. Ah, no! if stays the heart, Youth can ne er depart, Nor the sweet tale be told Never the rose fade, nor the year grow old. THE WINTRY HEART ON the sad winter trees The dead, red leaves remain, Tho to and fro the bleak winds blow, And falls the freezing rain. So to the wintry heart Clings color of the past, While through dead leaves shudders and grieves The melancholy blast. SONGS 233 HAST THOU HEARD THE NIGHTINGALE? YES, I have heard the nightingale. As in dark woods I wandered, And dreamed and pondered, A voice past by all fire And passion and desire; I rather felt than heard The song of that lone bird; Yes, I have heard the nightingale. Yes, I have heard the nightingale. - I heard it, and I followed; The warm night swallowed This soul and body of mine, As burning thirst takes wine, While on and on I prest Close to that singing breast; Yes, I have heard the nightingale. Yes, I have heard the nightingale. Well doth each throbbing ember The flame remember; And I, how quick that sound Turned drops from a deep wound! How this heart was the thorn Which pierced that breast forlorn! Yes, I have heard the nightingale. "IN THAT DREAD, DREAMED-OF HOUR" IN that dread, dreamed-of hour When in her heart love s rose flames into flower, T is never, never yes, But no, no, no, whate er the startled eyes confess. 234 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE Her frail denial at last Swept clean away like burnt leaves in the blast, No longer no, no, no! But yes, forever yes, while love s red rose doth blow. "ROSE-DARK THE SOLEMN SUNSET" ROSE-DARK the solemn sunset That holds my thought of thee; With one star in the heavens And one star in the sea. On high no lamp is lighted, Nor where the long waves flow, Save the one star of evening And the shadow star below. Light of my Life! the darkness Comes with the twilight dream; Thou art the bright star shining, I but the shadowy gleam. "WINDS TO THE SILENT MORN" WINDS to the silent morn; Waves to the ocean; Voice to the song unsung; Song to emotion; Light to the golden flower; Bird to the tree; Love to the heart of love, And I to thee! Dawn to the darkened world; Hope to the morrow; SONGS 235 Music to passion; and Weeping to sorrow; Love to the heart that longs; Moon to the sea; Heaven to the earthborn soul, And thou to me. THE UNRETURNING I SILENT, silent are the unreturning! What tho word may reach to them, and yearning, Never through the stillness of the night, Never in the daytime or the dark Comes the long-lost voice, or smile of light; Lifts no hand from sea or sunken bark. Silent, silent are the unreturning! ii Silent, silent are the unreturning! Silent they? or are we undiscerning? Child, my child! is this thy answering voice Murmuring far down the mountain lone? Evening s smile, that whispers: "Heart, rejoice!" Mother mine ! is this thy very own ? Nay! nay! Silent are the unreturning; Silent, silent are the unreturning ! TWO YEARS O, THAT was the year the last of those before thee; All my world till then but dark before the dawn. If then I had died, O, never had I known thee, Never had beheld thee; I who won, who own thee; Who chose thee, who sing thee, crown thee, and adore thee; O, death it were indeed to die before that dawn! 236 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE This was the year when first I did behold thee, Thou who on my darkness dawned with lyric light. This the golden hour when first thy lover found thee, Followed and beguiled thee, and with his singing bound thee; When all the world with music rang to drown thee and enfold thee Thou who turned the darkness to song, and love, and light! IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS PART I IN PALESTINE AH, no! that sacred land Where fell the wearied feet of the lone Christ Robs not the soul of faith. I shall set down The thought was in my heart. If that hath lost Aught of its child-belief, t was long ago, Not there in Palestine ; and if t were lost, He were a coward who should fear to lose A blind, hereditary, thoughtless faith Comfort of fearful minds, a straw to catch at On the deep-gulfed and tempest-driven sea. Full well I know how shallow spirits lack The essence, flinging from them but the form. I have seen souls lead barren lives and curst, Bereft of light, and all the grace of life, Because for them the inner truth was lost In the frail symbol hated, shattered, spurned. But faith that lives forever is not bound To any outward semblance, any scheme Fine-wrought of human wonder, or self-love, Or the base fear of never-ending pain. True faith doth face the blackness of despair, 240 IN PALESTINE Blank faithlessness itself; bravely it holds To duty unrewarded and unshared; It loves where all is loveless; it endures In the long passion of the soul for God. T was thus I thought : - At last the very land whose breath he breathed, The very hills his bruised feet did climb ! This is his Olivet ; on this Mount he stood, As I do now, and with this same surprise Straight down into the startling blue he gazed Of the fair, turquoise mid-sea of the plain. That long, straight, misty, dream-like, violet wall Of Moab lo, how close it looms ! The same Quick human wonder struck his holy vision. About these feet the flowers he knew so well. Back where the city s shadow slowly climbs There is a wood of olives gaunt and gray, And centuries old; it holds the name it bore That night of agony and bloody sweat. I tell you when I looked upon these fields And stony valleys, through the purple veil Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun Made shining jewels of the barren rocks, Something within me trembled; for I said: This picture once was mirrored in his eyes; This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness, To him familiar were; this is the way To Bethany; the red anemones Along yon wandering path mark the steep road To green-embowered Jordan. All is his: These leprous outcasts pleading piteously; This troubled country, troubled then as now, IN PALESTINE 241 And wild and bloody, this is his own land. On such a day, girdled by these same hills, Prest by this dark-browed, sullen, Orient crowd, On yonder mount, spotted with crimson blooms, He closed his eyes, in that dark tragedy Which mortal spirit never dared to sound. O God ! I saw those eyes in every throng. Was he divine, and maker of all worlds, The Godhead veiled in suffering, for our sins, An unimagined splendor poured on earth In sacrifice supreme, this was a scene Fit for the tears of angels and all men. If he was man a passionate human heart, Like unto ours, but with intenser fire, And whiter from the deep and central glow; Who loved all men as never man before, Who felt as never mortal all the weight Of this world s sorrow, and whose sinless hands Upstretched in prayer did seem, indeed, to clutch The hand divine; if he was man, yet dreamed That the Ineffable through him had power, Even through his touch, to scatter human pain (Setting the eternal seal on his high hope And promised kingdom); was he only man, Thus, thus to aspire, and thus at last to fall ! Such anguish ! such betrayal ! Who could paint That tragedy ! one human, piteous cry "Forsaken!" and black death! If he was God, T was for an instant only, his despair; Or was he man, and there is life beyond, And, soon or late, the good rewarded are, Then, too, is recompense. 242 IN PALESTINE But was he man, And death ends all; then was that tortured death On Calvary a thing to make the pulse Of memory quail and stop. The blackest thought The human brain may harbor comes that way. Face that, face all, yet lose not hope nor heart! One perfect moment in the life of love, One deed wherein the soul unselfed gleams forth, These can outmatch all ill, all doubt, all fear, And through the encompassing burden of the world Burn swift the spirit s pathway to its God. THE ANGER OF CHRIST ON the day that Christ ascended To Jerusalem, Singing multitudes attended, And the very heavens were rended With the shout of them. Chanted they a sacred ditty, Every heart elate; But he wept in brooding pity, Then went in the holy city By the Golden Gate. In the temple, lo! what lightning Makes unseemly rout ! He in anger, sudden, frightening, Drives with scorn and scourge the whitening Money-changers out. UNIV THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM 243 By the way that Christ descended From Mount Olivet, I, a lonely pilgrim, wended, On the day his entry splendid Is remembered yet. And I thought : If he, returning On this high festival, Here should haste with love and yearning, Where would now his fearful, burning Anger flash and fall? In the very house they builded To his saving name, Mid their altars, gemmed and gilded, Would his scourge and scorn be wielded, His fierce lightning flame. Once again, O Man of Wonder, Let thy voice be heard! Speak as with a sound of thunder; Drive the false thy roof from under; Teach thy priests thy word. THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM I HEARD the bells of Bethlehem ring Their voice was sweeter than the priests ; I heard the birds of Bethlehem sing Unbidden in the churchly feasts. They clung and sung on the swinging chain High in the dim and incensed air; The priests, with repetitions vain, Chanted a never-ending prayer. 244 IN PALESTINE So bell and bird and priest I heard, But voice of bird was most to me; It had no ritual, no word, And yet it sounded true and free. I thought Child Jesus, were he there, Would like the singing birds the best, And clutch his little hands in air And smile upon his mother s breast. NOEL STAR-DUST and vaporous light, The mist of worlds unborn, A shuddering in the awful night Of winds that bring the morn. Now comes the dawn: the circling earth; Creatures that fly and crawl ; And Man, that last, imperial birth; And Christ, the flower of all. "THE SUPPER AT EMMAUS" WISE Rembrandt ! thou couldst paint, and thou alone, Eyes that had seen what never human eyes Before had looked on; him that late had past Onward and back through gates of Death and Life. O human face where the celestial gleam Lingers! O, still to thee the eyes of men Turn with deep, questioning worship; seeing there, As in a mirror, the Eternal Light Caught from the shining of the central Soul Whence came all worlds, and whither shall return. THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT 245 THE DOUBTER THOU Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised! With words the scholars wear me out; My brain o erwearied and confused, Thee, and myself, and all I doubt. And must I back to darkness go Because I cannot say their creed? I know not what I think; I know Only that thou art what I need. THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT THIS is an island of the golden Past Uplifted in the tranquil sea of night. In the white splendor how the heart beats fast, When climbs the pilgrim to this gleaming hight; As might a soul, new-born, its wondering way Take through the gates of pearl and up the stair Into the precincts of celestial day, So to this shrine my worshiping feet did fare. But look ! what tragic waste ! Is Time so lavish Of dear perfection thus to see it spilled? T was worth an empire ; now behold the ravish That laid it low. The soaring plain is filled With the wide-scattered letters of one word Of loveliness that nevermore was spoken; Nor ever shall its like again be heard: Not dead is art but that high charm is broken. 246 IN PALESTINE III Now moonlight builds with swift and mystic art And makes the ruin whole and yet not whole ; But exquisite, tho crusht and torn apart. Back to the temple steals its living soul In the star-silent night; it comes all pale A spirit breathing beauty and delight, And yet how stricken ! Hark ! I hear it wail Self-sorrowful, while every wound bleeds white. IV And tho more sad than is the nightingale That mourns in Lykabettos fragrant pine, That soul to mine brings solace; nor shall fail To heal the heart of man while still doth shine Yon planet, doubly bright in this deep blue; Yon moon that brims with fire these violet hills: For beauty is of God; and God is true, And with His strength the soul of mortal fills. THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE LET fall the ruin propt by Europe s hands! Its tottering walls are but a nest of crime; Slayers and ravishers in licensed bands Swarm darkly forth to shame the face of Time. False, imbecile, and cruel; kept in place Not by its natural force, but by the fears Of foes, scared each of each; even by the grace Of rivals not blood-guiltless all these years ! Ay, let the ruin fall, and from its stones Rebuild a civic temple pure and fair; Where freedom is not alien; where the groans Of dying and ravished burden not the air! 1896. KARNAK 247 KARNAK OF all earth s shrines this is the mightiest, And none is elder. Pylon, obelisk, Column enormous seek or east or west, No temple like to Karnak neath the disk Of the far-searching sun. Since the first stone Here lifted to the heavens its dumb appeal, Empires and races to the dread unknown Have past gods great and small neath Time s slow wheel Have fallen and been crusht ; the earth hath shaken Ruin on ruin desolate, dead, forsaken. ii Since first these stones were laid, the solid world, Ay, this whole, visible, infinite universe, Hath shifted on its base; suns have been hurled From heaven; the ever-circling spheres rehearse A music new to men. Yet still doth run This river, throbbing life through all its lands; Those desert mountains lifted to the sun Live as of old; and these devouring sands; And, under the changing heavens, amazed, apart Still, still the same the insatiate human heart. in And Thou, Eternal, Thou art still the same; Thou unto whom the first, sad, questioning face Yearned, for a refuge from the insentient frame Of matter that doth grind us; seeking grace From powers imagined gainst the powers we know; Some charm to avert the whirlwind, bring the tide 248 IN PALESTINE And harvest; turn the blind and awful flow Of nature ! Thou Eternal dost abide Silent forever, like the unanswering skies That send but empty echoes to men s cries! IV But not in temples now man s only hope, Nor secret ministries of king and priest Chanting beyond dark gates that never ope Unto the people; now no horned beast Looms twixt the worshiper and the adored, Nor any creature s likeness; He remains Unknown as erst; yet Him whom we call Lord Is worshiped in the fields as in the fanes. We have but faith; we know not; yet He seems More near, more human, in our passionate dreams. We know not, yet the centuries in their course Have built an image in the mind of man; We have but faith, yet that mysterious Force Less darkly threatens, looms a friendlier plan. Far off the singing of the morning stars, Yet age by age such words of light are spoken (Like whispered messages through prison bars), Sometimes men deem the dreadful silence broken, And hearts that late were famished and af eared Leap to the Voice and onward fare well cheered. VI Cheered for a little season, but the morrow Brings the old heartbreak; gone is all the gain; Tho the bowed soul be schooled to its own sorrow, Ah, heaven! to feel earth s heritage of pain, ANGELO, THOU ART THE MASTER 249 The unescapable anguish of mankind, That blots out natural joy! O human soul, Learn Courage, tho the lightning strike thee blind; Let Duty be thy worship; Love, thy goal: Love, Duty, Courage these make thou thy own, Till from the unknown we pass into the unknown. "ANGELO, THOU ART THE MASTER" ANGELO, thou art the master; for thou in thy art Compassed the body, the soul; the form and the heart. Knew where the roots of the spirit are buried and twined, The springs and the rocks that shall suckle and tor ture and bind. , Large was thy soul like the soul of a god that creates Converse it held with the stars and the imminent Fates. Knewest thou Art is but Beauty perceived and exprest, And the pang of that Beauty had entered and melted thy breast. Here by thy Slave, again, after long years do I bow Angelo, thou art the master, yea, thou, and but thou. Here is the crown of all beauty that lives in the world; Spirit and flesh breathing forth from these lips that are curled With sweetness and sorrow as never, O, never before, And from eyes that are heavy with light, and shall weep nevermore ; And lo, at the base of the statue, that monster of shape Thorn of the blossom of life, mocking face of the ape. So cometh morn from the shadow and murk of the night ; From pain springeth joy, and from flame the keen beauty of light. 250 IN PALESTINE II Beauty! O, well for the hearts that bow down and adore her: Heart of mine, hold thou in all the world nothing before her. All the fair universe now to her feet that is clinging Out of the womb of her leapt with the dawn, and the singing Of stars. O thou Beautiful ! thee do I worship and praise In the dark where thy lamps are; again in thy glory of days, Whose end and beginning thou blessest with piercing delight Of splendors outspread on the edge of the robe of the night. Ah, that sweetness is sent not to him whose dull spirit would rest In the bliss of it; no, not the goal, but the passion and quest; Not the vale, but the desert. O, never soft airs shall awake Thy Soul to the soul of all Beauty, all heaven, and all wonder ; The summons that comes to thee, mortal, thy spirit to shake, Shall be the loud clarion s call and the voices of thunder. A WINTER TWILIGHT IN PROVENCE A STRANGER in a far and ancient land, At evening-light I wander. Shade on shade The mountain valleys darken, and the plain A WINTER TWILIGHT IN PROVENCE 251 Grows dim beneath a chill and iron sky. The trees of peace take the last gray of day Day that shone soft on olives, misty-green, And aisles of wind-forbidding cypresses, And long, white roads, whitely with plane-trees lined, And farms content, and happy villages A land that lies close in the very heart Of history, and brave, and free, and gay; In all its song lingering one tone of pain. But now the wintry twilight silent falls, And ghosts of other days stalk the lone fields; While through yon sunk and immemorial road, Rock-furrowed, rough, and like a torrent s bed, Far-stretching into night twixt twilight farms, I see in dream the unhistoried armies pass, With barbarous banners trailing gainst the gloom; Then, in a thought s flash (centuries consumed), In this deep path a fierce and refluent wave Brims the confined and onward-pressing march With standards slantwise borne; so, to the mind, The all-conquering eagle northward takes its flight, And one stern empire widens o er the world. There looms the arch of war where once, long gone, In these still fields, against those thymy slopes, An alien city reared imperial towers: See sculptured conqueror, and slave in chains Mournful a myriad years; and near the arch The heaven-climbing, templed monument Embossed with horse and furious warrior! Millenniums have sped since those grim wars Here grimly carved, the wonder of the churl, The very language dead those warriors cried. Deepens the dusk, and on the neighboring hight A rock-hewn palace cuts the edge of day 252 IN PALESTINE In giant ruin stark against the sky: Ah, misery! I know its piteous tale Of armed injustice; monstrous, treacherous force. Deepens the dusk, and the enormous towers, Still lording o er a living city near, Are lost to sight; but not to thought are lost A hundred stories of the old-time curse War and its ravagings. Deepens the dusk On westward mountains black with olden crime And steeped in blood spilled in the blessed name Of him the Roman soldiers crucified The Prince of Peace. Deepens the dusk, and all The nearer landscape glimmers into dark, And naught shows clear save yonder wayside cross Against the lurid west whose dying gleam Of ghastly sunlight frights the brooding soul. Dear country mine ! far in that viewless west, And ocean-warded, strife thou too hast known ; But may thy sun hereafter bloodless shine, And may thy way be onward without wrath, And upward on no carcass of the slain ; And if thou smitest, let it be for peace And justice not in hate, or pride, or lust Of empire. May st thou ever be, O land ! Noble and pure as thou art free and strong: So shalt thou lift a light for all the world And for all time, and bring the Age of Peace. ST.-REMY DE PROVENCE, January, 1896. HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG 253 PART II "THE POET S DAY" THE poet s day is different from another, Tho he doth count each man his own heart s brother. So crystal-clear the air that he looks through, It gives each color an intenser hue; Each bush doth burn, and every flower flame; The stars are sighing; silence breathes a name. The world wherein he wanders, dreams, and sings Thrills with the beating of invisible wings; And all day long he hears from hidden birds The low, melodious pour of musicked words. "HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG?" How to the singer comes the song? At times a joy, alone ; A wordless tone Caught from the crystal gleam of ice-bound trees; Or from the violet-perfumed breeze; Or the sharp smell of seas In sunlight glittering many an emerald mile; Or the keen memory of a love-lit smile. ii Thus to the singer comes the song: Gazing at crimson skies Where burns and dies On day s wide hearth the calm celestial fire, The poet with a wild desire 254 IN PALESTINE Strikes the impassioned lyre, Takes into tuned sound the flaming sight And ushers with new song the ancient night. in How to the singer comes the song? Bowed down by ill and sorrow On every morrow The unworded pain breaks forth in heavenly singing; Not all too late dear solace bringing To broken spirits winging Through mortal anguish to the unknown rest A lyric balm for every wounded breast. IV How to the singer comes the song? How to the summer fields Come flowers? How yields Darkness to happy dawn? How doth the night Bring stars? O, how do love and light Leap at the sound and sight Of her who makes this dark world seem less wrong Life of his life, and soul of all his song! "LIKE THE BRIGHT PICTURE" LIKE the bright picture ere the lamp is lit, Or silent page whereon keen notes are writ; So was my love, all vacant, all unsaid, Ere she the lamp did light, ere she the music read. REMEMBRANCE OF BEAUTY LOVE S look finds loveliness in all the world : Ah, who shall say This, this is loveliest ! MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 255 Forgetting that pure beauty is impearled A thousand perfect ways, and none is best. Sometimes I deem that dawn upon the ocean Thrills deeper than all else; but, sudden, there, With serpent gleam and hue, and fixed motion, Niagara curves its scimitar in air. So when I dream of sunset, oft I gaze Again from Bellosguardo s misty hight, Or memory ends once more one day of days Carrara s mountains purpling into night. There is no loveliest, dear Love, but thee Through whom all loveliness I breathe and see. MUSIC IN SOLITUDE IN this valley far and lonely Birds sang only, And the brook, And the rain upon the leaves; And all night long beneath the eaves (While with soft breathings slept the housed cattle) The hived bees Made music like the murmuring seas; From lichened wall, from many a leafy nook, The chipmunk sounded shrill his tiny rattle; Through the warm day boomed low the droning flies, And the huge mountain shook With the organ of the skies. II Dear these songs unto my heart ; But the spirit longs for art, Longs for music that is born 256 IN PALESTINE Of the human soul forlorn, Or the beating heart of pleasure. Thou, sweet girl, didst bring this boon Without stint or measure ! Many a tune From the masters of all time In my waiting heart made rhyme. in As the rain on parched meadows, As cool shadows Falling from the sultry sky, As loved memories die, But live again when a well-tuned voice Makes with old joy the grieved heart rejoice, So came once more with thy clear touch The melodies I love Ah, not too much, But all earth s natural songs far, far above ! For they are nature felt, and living, And human, and impassioned; And they full well are fashioned To bring to sound and sense the eternal striving, The inner soul of the inexpressive ;world, The meaning furled Deep at the heart of all The thought that mortals name divine, Whereof all beauty is the sign, That comes, ah ! surely comes, at music s solemn call. "A POWER THERE IS" A POWER there is that trembles through the earth; It lives in nature s mirth, THE CELLO 257 Making that fearful as the touch of pain ; It strikes the sunlit plain, And harvests flash, or bend with rushing rain ; It is not far when tempests make their moan, And lightnings leap, and bursts the thunder-stone. It comes in morning s beam of living light, And the imperial night Knows it, and all its company of stars, And the auroral bars. Through nature all, the subtile current thrills; It built in flood and fire the crystal hills; It molds the flowers, And all the branched forests that abide Forever on the teeming mountain-side. It lives where music times the soft, processional hours; And where on that lone hill of art Proud Phidias carved in stone his lyric heart ; And where wild battle is, and where Glad lovers breathe in starry night the quivering air. THE SONG S ANSWER ME mystic? Have your way! But sing me, if ye may; Then shall ye know the power Of the seed s thought of the flower, Of the dawn s thought of the day. THE CELLO WHEN late I heard the trembling cello play, In every face I read sad memories That from dark, secret chambers where they lay Rose, and looked forth from melancholy eyes. 258 IN PALESTINE So every mournful thought found there a tone To match despondence; sorrow knew its mate; 111 fortune sighed, and mute despair made moan; And one deep chord gave answer, " Late, too late." Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift returned Into its depths the secret of each heart ; Each face took on its mask, where lately burned A spirit charmed to sight by music s art; But unto one who caught that inner flame No face of all can ever seem the same. THE VALLEY ROAD BY this road have past Hope and Joy adance; And one at dark fled fast, Quick breath, and look askance; And in this dust have dropt Tears that never stopt. Childhood, caught by flowers, Cannot choose but dally; Slowly through the hours Age creeps down the valley; Only Youth goes swift Eager, and head alift. Summer, and the night, Calm and cloudless moon, And lo ! a path of light ! Heaven would come too soon To lovers wandering slowly Through the starlight holy. HAWTHORNE IN BERKSHIRE 259 And by this road was borne, Betwixt sweet banks of fern, And willow rows, and corn, He, who will return Not, tho others may, The old, familiar way. Two streams within these walls For ever and ever flow ; Back and forth the current falls, The long processions go; A hundred years have flown, The human tides pour on And shall, when you and I Pass no more again. Beneath the bending sky Shall be no lack of men; Never the road run bare, Tho other feet may fare. HAWTHORNE IN BERKSHIRE MOUNTAINS and valleys! dear ye are to me: Your streams wild-wandering, ever-tranquil lakes, And forests that make murmur like the sea; And this keen air that from the hurt soul takes Its pain and languor. Doubly dear ye are For many a lofty memory that throws A splendor on these hights. Neath yon low star, That like a dewdrop melts in heaven s rose, Dwelt once a starry spirit; there he smote Life from the living hills; a little while He rested from the raging of the world. 260 IN PALESTINE This Brook of Shadows, whose dark waters purled Solace to his deep mind, it felt his smile Haunted, and melancholy, and remote. LATE SUMMER THO summer days are all too fleet, Not yet the year is touched with cold; Through the long billows of the wheat The green is lingering in the gold. The birds that thrilled the April copse, Ah! some have flown on silent wings; Yet one sweet music never stops: The constant vireo sings and sings. AN HOUR IN A STUDIO EACH picture was a painted memory Of the far plains he loved, and of their life, Weird, mystical, dark, inarticulate, And cities hidden high against the blue, Whose sky-hung steps one Indian could guard. The enchanted Mesa there its fated wall Lifted, and all its story lived again How, in the happy planting time, the strong Went down to push the seeds into the sand, Leaving the old and sick. Then reeled the world And toppled to the plain the perilous path. Death climbed another way to them who stayed. He showed us pictured thirst, a dreadful sight ; And many tales he told that might have come, Brought by some planet- wanderer fresh from Mars, Or from the silver deserts of the moon. A SONG OF THE ROAD 261 But I remember better than all else One night he told of in that land of fright The love-songs swarthy men sang to their herds On the high plains to keep the beasts in heart; Piercing the silence one keen tenor voice Singing "Ai nostri monti" clear and high: Instead of stakes and fences round about They circled them with music in the night. ILLUSION WHAT strange, fond trick is this mine eyes are playing ! I know tis but the visioning mind perplexes, The inward sight the outer sense betraying, Yet the sweet lie the spirit wounds and vexes: As at still midnight pondering here, and reading, Right on the book s white page, and twixt the lines, And wreathing through the words, and quick receding, Only to come again (as mid the vines The dryads flash and hide), white arms are gleaming, A light hand hovers, curved lips are red, Locks in a warm and soundless wind are streaming Across the image of one glorious head; No more, no more, shut now the volume lies On that swift, piercing look, those haunting eyes. A SONG OF THE ROAD SPEED, speed, speed Through the day, through the night ! Cities are beads on the thread of our flight; Peaks melt in peaks and are lost in the air. Speed, speed, speed But, O, the dearth of it, Thou not there! 262 IN PALESTINE Every journey is good if love be the goal of it. What s all the world if love s not the soul of it; What were the worth of it Thou not there! "NOT HERE" i NOT here, but somewhere, so men say, More bright the day, And the blue sky More nigh; Somewhere, afar, the bird of dawn sings sweeter; Somewhere completer The round of hopes and heart-beats that make life More than a bootless strife. But, ah ! there be that know Where joy alone doth grow. Led by one true star, The journey is not far. T is in a garden in no distant land, High- walled on every hand; And the key thereof Is love. " NO, NO, SHE SAID" "No, no," she said; "I may not wed; If say I must nay must I say ; I cannot stay; Nay, nay, I needs must flout thee!" A SOUL LOST, AND FOUND 263 He turned about; His life went out; "If go I must, so must I go!" Cried she " No, no ; Ah, what were life without thee!" A SOUL LOST, AND FOUND Lo ! here another Soul has gone down. Hope led each morrow; Honor was all; Faith had no fall; Fortune no frown. Brother by brother Bowed to each sorrow. None had lost heart; Life was love, life was art. ii We could but follow ! Quenchless his fire; The mightier the burden The stronger his soul, The higher the goal. Now see the mire Soil him and swallow! Heaven ! what guerdon Worth such a cost! Love, art, life lost, all lost. in Down to the pallid Figure of death 264 IN PALESTINE Love s face is pressing; Listens and waits, Beseeching the Fates For heart-beat and breath Sign clear and valid, Life still confessing. Dead! He is dead! All is lost ! He has fled. IV Behold now, a moving, A flutter of life ! Forth from the starkness, Horror, and slime, See, he doth climb. With himself is the strife; Back to the loving From mire and the darkness, Back to the sun! He has fought he has won. "THIS HOUR MY HEART WENT FORTH, AS IN OLD DAYS" THIS hour my heart went forth, as in old days, To one I loved, forgetting she was dead So fluttered back the message, like the dove That found no rest in all the weltering world. Is it then so all blankness and black void, No welcome, no response, no voice, no sign?. Ah, Heaven ! let us be foolish give us faith In what is not; cheat us a little longer; Comfort us mortals with envisioned forms; Let us, tho but in dreams, see spirits near, EVEN WHEN JOY IS NEAR 265 And touch the draperies of imagined shapes That hold the souls we love that have gone forth Into the land of shadows, but still live In memory, O, most dear! Beguile our lives With dim, half-fashioned phantoms of dead hours. Lest the long way grow hateful; give us faith Unreasoned, vague, unsubstanced, but still faith; For faith is hope, and hope alone is life. "EVEN WHEN JOY IS NEAR" EVEN when joy is near These ghosts of banished thoughts do haunt the mind: The awful void of space wherein our earth, An atom in the unending whirl of stars, Circles, all helpless, to a nameless doom; The swift, indifferent marshaling of fate Whereby the world moves on, rewarding vice And punishing angelic innocence As t were the crime of crimes; the brute, dull, slow Persistence in the stifled mind of man Of forces that drive all his being back Into the slime; the silent cruelty Of nature, that doth crush the unseen soul Hidden within its sensitive shell of flesh; The anguish and the sorrow of all time, These are forever with me, but grow dim When I remember my sweet mother s face. Somewhere, at heart of all, the right must reign If in the garden of the infinite Such loveliness be brought to perfect bloom. 266 IN PALESTINE RESURRECTION BACK to my body came I in the gray of the dawning, Back to my bed in the mold, neath the sod and the blossoms; Not; strange seemed my natural couch, not new, not afflicting; But strange now, and new, and afflicting my natural body, Alien long while my soul took the wings of the morning. I lifted my hands to the light then swiftly I followed, With fingers that carefully prest, the curve of the muscles; All was familiar; this was the frame I had nurtured, I had loved as a man loves the body so long his com panion ; Again was I ware of the brow where the dew of sweet kisses Fell, ere forth went the stripling to life and the shudder Of battle ; again from the mirror of waters the features Not unloved of dear comrades looked forth. I beheld in amazement The bodily presence so long laid aside and forgotten; Overwhelmed was my soul with its shackles; I grieved, I lamented As a prisoner dragged back to his cell, as an eagle re captured. "AS SOARS THE EAGLE" As soars the eagle, intimate of light, Fear not the face of the sun; Nor all the blasts of earth. Child of Him, the untrembling One, O, prove thee worthy of thy birth ! ROBERT GOULD SHAW 267 Let no ill betray thee! Let no death dismay thee! The eagle seeks the sky, Nor fears the infinite light; Thus, soul of mine, escape the night And gainst the morning fly! PART III ROBERT GOULD SHAW (THE MONUMENT BY AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS) i FIXT in one desire, Thrilled by one fierce fire, Marching men and horse, And he the youthful rider one soul, one aim, one force. ii Onward he doth press; Moving, tho motionless; Resolute, intent, As on some mighty errand the willing youth were bent. in Onward, tho he hears Father s, sisters tears; Onward, tho before him Grief more near, more dear the breaking heart that bore him. rv Onward, tho he leaves One who lonely grieves; 268 IN PALESTINE O, keep him, Fate! from harm. For on his dewy lips the bridal kiss is warm. What doth he behold Making the boy so bold ? Speak with whispering breath ! O Fate, O Fame, O radiant soul in love with glorious Death ! VI Eyes that forward peer Why have they no fear? Because, through blood and blight, They see the golden morning burst and bring the living light; VII See War the fetters strike From white and black alike; See, past the pain and scorn, A nation saved, a race redeemed, and freedom newly born; vm See, in days to come, When silent War s loud drum, Ere civic wrong shall cease, Heroes as pure and brave arise on battlefields of peace. "THE NORTH STAR DRAWS THE HERO" (TO H. N. G.) THE North Star draws the hero; he abides Stedfast tho death defends the unending quest. But, ah, more faithful still the love that hides In woman s empty arms and aching breast ! SCORN 269 GLAVE THIS day I read in the sad scholar s page That the old earth is withered and undone; That faith and great emprize beneath the sun Are vain and empty in our doting age; J T were best to calm the spirit s noble rage, To live in dreams, and all high passion shun, While round and round the aimless seasons run Pleasured alone with dead art s heritage. Then, as I read, outshone thy face of youth, Hero and martyr of humanity, Dead yesterday on Af ric s shore of doom ! Ah, no; Faith, Courage fail not, while lives Truth, While Pity lives, while man for man can die, And deeds of glory light the dark world s gloom. OF HENRY GEORGE WHO DIED FIGHTING AGAINST POLITICAL TYRANNY AND CORRUPTION Now is the city great! That deep-voiced bell Tolls for a martyred hero. Such is he Who loved her, strove for her, and nobly fell. His fire be ours the passion to be free. NEW YORK, 1897. SCORN WHO are the men that good men most despise? Not they who, ill begot and spawned in shame, Riot and rob, or rot before men s eyes, Who basely live, and dying leave no name. These are the piteous refuse of mankind, Fatal the ascendant star when they were born, 2 JO IN PALESTINE Distort in body, starved in soul and mind; Ah, not for them the good man s bitter scorn! He, only, is the despicable one Who lightly sells his honor as a shield For fawning knaves, to hide them from the sun ; Too nice for crime, yet, coward, he doth yield For crime a shelter. Swift to Paradise The contrite thief, not Judas with his price ! THE HEROIC AGE HE speaks not well who doth his time deplore, Naming it new and little and obscure, Ignoble and unfit for lofty deeds. All times were modern in the time of them, And this no more than others. Do thy part Here in the living day, as did the great Who made old days immortal! So shall men, Gazing long back to this far-looming hour, Say: "Then the time when men were truly men: Tho wars grew less, their spirits met the test Of new conditions; conquering civic wrong; Saving the state anew by virtuous lives; Guarding the country s honor as their own, And their own as their country s and their sons*: Proclaiming service the one test of worth ; Defying leagued fraud with single truth ; Knights of the spirit; warriors in the cause Of justice absolute twixt man and man ; Not fearing loss; and daring to be pure. When error through the land raged like a pest They calmed the madness caught from mind to mind By wisdom drawn from eld, and counsel sane; And as the martyrs of the ancient world THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT 271 Gave Death for man, so nobly gave they Life : Those the great days, and that the heroic age." ATHENS, 1896. THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT (IN MEMORY OF JOE EVANS) Too much of praise for the quick, pitiless blow! Justice doth lean on strength, full well we know; But the sharp, glittering sword that strikes for right Takes fame too easily. Thank Heaven for might, Which is Heaven s servant, oft! Yet he s not man Who, when the heart s afire, no brave deed can. Praise thou the clencht fist that, when blood is hot, On itself tightens, but descendeth not. Ay, praise the sword undrawn, the bolt unsped, The rage supprest till the true word is said. Might of the spirit, this shalt thou extol, And holy weakness of the conquering soul. And on this day, when one well loved has past From suffering to the unknown peace, at last, Would I might praise, as nobly as I ought, The hero-soldier who no battle fought Or, rather, one who, facing fate s worst frown, The spirit s sword but with his life laid down. The soul that from that body, bent and frail, Peered out, did at no earthly terror quail. To face an army he was brave enough ; Martyrs and conquerors are of that stuff. And in the civic conflict that was waged Year after year, his knightly spirit raged; He could not bear his country should have blame, So this slight warrior did the mighty shame. 272 IN PALESTINE Yet Beauty was his passion, and the art To paint it that it might not all depart. He loved the gentlest things; there was a grace In his sad look surpassing many a face More beautiful. Ah, back, ye bitter tears! He, lover of light and gladness, all these years Fighting twin demons of keen pain and doom ; He, of such humor that the very tomb Might snatch a brightness from his presence there ! But no; not bright the tomb. We, in despair, Seek through the world again a charm like this That which our friend has taken we shall forever miss. April, 1898. "THROUGH ALL THE CUNNING AGES" THROUGH all the cunning ages Mankind hath made for man From out his loves and rages A god to bless and ban. When he his foe despises This god he calls to curse; And would he win earth s prizes His praise doth man rehearse. So, when he craves the guerdon Of others land and pelf, He flings the blame and burden On this shadow of himself. If, spite of all their ranting, There reigns a God indeed, How well He hates the canting That framed their sordid creed! WHEN WITH THEIR COUNTRY S ANGER 273 "Lay not to me your hollow And broken words of faith To sin that good may follow No law of mine," He saith. "If, twixt your tribes and nations, There lives no law but might, Not myriad incantations Can make your evil right. "Ye call me God of battle ; I weary while ye slay. Are ye my horned cattle To find no better way?" ONE COUNTRY ONE SACRIFICE (ENSIGN WORTH BAGLEY, MAY u, 1898) IN one rich drop of blood, ah, what a sea Of healing! Thou, sweet boy, wert first to fall In our new war; and thou wert Southron all! There is no North, no South, remembering thee, WHEN WITH THEIR COUNTRY S ANGER" WHEN with their country s anger They flame into the fight, On sea, in treacherous forest, To strike with main and might, He shows the gentlest mercy Who rains the deadliest blows; Then quick war s hell is ended, And home the hero goes. 274 IN PALESTINE What stays the noblest memory For all his years to keep? Not of the foemen slaughtered, But rescued from the deep! Rescued with peerless daring! O, none shall forget that sight, When the unaimed cannon thundered In the ghastly after-fight. And, now, in the breast of the hero There blooms a strange, new flower, A blood-red, fragrant blossom Sown in the battle-hour. T is not the Love of Comrades, That flower forever blows, But the brave man s Love of Courage, The Love of Comrade-Foes. For since the beginning of battles On the land and on the wave, Heroes have answered to heroes, The brave have honored the brave. A VISION ALL round the glimmering circuit of the isle Audibly pulsed the ocean. In the dark Of the thick wood a voice not of its own Might come to sharpened ears ; a sound supprest, The rustling of an armed multitude Who toss in sleep, or, wakening, watch for death. Beneath the tropic stars that in strange skies Drew close and glittered large, I saw in dream A Soul pass hoveringly. THE WORD OF THE WHITE CZAR 275 Then came I near And questioned of that Ghost, who answer made Like a deep, murmuring wind that slowly draws Through dim memorial aisles of ancient time: "I am the mother of men, and from my womb Came all the dead and living. I am curst With memory, with knowledge of what is, And what shall be; yet, verily, am I blest With these three knowledges, my children I Have seen these myriad years grow, age by age, More wise, more just, more joyous, yet have I Seen mutual slaughter sow the earth with tears. In this New World here had I hoped my children Would learn to unlearn the path mankind had climbed Over its slain to happiness and power; For soon or late I know that boon shall come, And in the wars of peace the race shall wax Manlier, purer, gentler, and more wise. u But now again the sacred truce is broken, And bleeds this breast at every wound and sigh, And aches my mother-heart with the new pain Of mortal mothers comfortless forever." Then past the Spirit from my dream at dawn; I woke into another day of war With news of splendid deeds, and victory Yet still I heard that brooding shade lament. THE WORD OF THE WHITE CZAR THIS day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken, Not with the voice of a child, nor the voice of a woman, Nor yet with the voice of a poet, the melody sounded, 276 IN PALESTINE Forth from the lips of a warrior, girt for the battle, Breathed this word of words o er a world astonished. Prisoners returning from war, and conquering armies, Navies flusht with new and amazing victory, Heard the message, so strange, so high, so entrancing, And soldiers dying of wounds or the wasting of fever. In tropic islands it sounded, through wrecks of cities; O er burning plains where warlike death was in wait ing; Armies and navies confronting, in watchful silence, Heard it and wondered; statesmen stopt their debates, And turning their eyes toward the voice, with its mean ing unlocked for, Listened and smiled with the smile and the sneer of the cynic. But the mothers of youths who had died of their wounds and of fever, And the poor crusht down by the price of the glory of battle And the weight of the wars that have been, and that yet are preparing, They from their burdens looked up and uttered their blessing: For Peace, the Peace of God, was the warrior s prayer ! And I, who heard, I saw in a waking vision An image familiar long to the hearts of mortals, A face of trouble, a brow celestial, yet human In a dream of the day, I saw that suffering spirit, Him accustomed to labor, to anguish not alien, Still mourning for men alone in the valley of shadows; I dreamed that he lifted that face of infinite sorrow, A SONG FOR DOROTHEA, ACROSS THE SEA 277 And harkened when lo ! a light in those eyes of sad ness Came sudden as day that breaks from the mountains of Moab. PART IV A SONG FOR DOROTHEA, ACROSS THE SEA A SONG for you, my darling, For your own, dear, only sake. You bid me sing so does the spring Bid the birds awake, And quick with molten music the dewy branches quake. A song for you, my darling, To follow you all the day; And in sweet sleep the song shall keep Singing along the way, Through dreamland s silver meadows with golden lilies gay. A song for you, my darling, For those deep and darkling eyes, That stedfast shine as the stars divine Bright in the midnight skies, When the winds blow the clouds from heaven, and we gaze with a glad surprise. A song for you, my darling, A song for that faithful heart That as true abides as the throbbing tides, Tho half a world apart So far away is the girl I sing, with only a lover s art. 278 IN PALESTINE A BLIND POET CALL him not blind Whose keen, anointed sight, Pierced every secret of the heart, the mind, The day, the night. ON A WOMAN SEEN UPON THE STAGE ("TESS," AS PLAYED BY MRS. FISKE) ALAS, poor, fated, passionate, shivering thing ! So through brief life some dagger-haunted king Wears a bright sorrow. Thus her life rehearse : She was a woman; this her crown, her curse. OF ONE WHO NEITHER SEES NOR HEARS (HELEN KELLER) SHE lives in light, not shadow; Not silence, but the sound Which thrills the stars of heaven And trembles from the ground. She breathes a finer ether, Beholds a keener sun; In her supernal being Music and light are one. Unknown the subtile senses That lead her through the day; Love, light, and song and color Come by another way. ESPOUSALS OF JEANNE ROUMANILLE 279 Sight brings she to the seeing, New song to those that hear; Her braver spirit sounding Where mortals fail and fear. She at the heart of being Serene and glad doth dwell; Spirit with scarce a veil of flesh; A soul made visible. Or is it only a lovely girl With flowers at her maiden breast? Helen, here is a book of song From the poet who loves you best. FOR THE ESPOUSALS OF JEANNE ROUMANILLE, OF AVIGNON WHILE joy-bells are ringing And the high Fates meet thee, Child of the South, and of singing, Singing I greet thee. In thy chaplet one flower From a far world! Wilt wear it? Rich tho thy land, and this hour, Thou may st not forbear it; Thou wilt welcome and win it; It will breathe on, caress thee; For the fame of thy father is in it; His lover doth bless thee ! His lover the lover of thee, O Provence; Thy blue skies, thy gray mountains; The heart-beat of Freedom and France Shakes thy rivers and fountains, 280 IN PALESTINE And makes thee a dream and a passion In the souls of all poets forever, While from thy fire thou dost fashion Beauty and music and art that shall perish, O, never! TO MARIE JOSEPHINE GIRARD, QUEEN OF THE FELIBRES ON HER WEDDING-DAY QUEENS have there been of many a fair domain Of arts, of hearts, of lands. Thy sovereignty a threefold realm commands Who o er Provence, and Poetry, and Love dost reign. INSCRIPTION FOR A TOWER IN FLORENCE (WRITTEN FOR THE CHATELAINE) i FOUR- WALLED is my tower: The first wall is for the dawn that comes from Vallom- brosa, The second wall is for the day that fills with soft fire the green vase of Tuscany, The third is for the evening twilight that darkens from the Valley of the Arno, The fourth is for the night and the stars of night. Four- walled is my tower: One wall is for the South and the sun, One is for the West and for memory, WITH A VOLUME OF DANTE 281 One is for the North and the star that never sets, And one is for the East and a faith that fares beyond the stars. in Four- walled is my tower: One wall is for the Spring and for Hope, One is for Summer and for Love, One is for Autumn and the Harvest, One is for Winter and for Waiting. IV Four- walled is my tower: One is for Childhood and the Innocence of Life, The second is for Youth and the Joy of Life, The third is for Manhood and the Fullness of Life, The fourth is for Old Age and the Wisdom of Life. Four- walled is my tower: A Rock for Strength, A Hight for Seeing, A Beacon for the Stranger, And a Hearth for Friendship. Four-walled is my tower On the Hill of Bellosguardo. WITH A VOLUME OF DANTE O THOU whom Virgil and thy Beatrice Through life and death, Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, Led upward into unimagined light Lead thou this soul the way thou, too, didst go Unto the Light that lights the eternal stars! POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS \\ POEMS AUTUMN AT FOUR-BROOKS FARM No song-bird, singing, soaring, But the brooks are up and roaring! Along the lane one lonely tree Starts a sound like a storm at sea. The round, black clouds pursue Across the gulfs of blue; So fast they fly the mountain crest Reels backward to the blowing west. Shadow and sun rush on together Across the hills in the gusty weather, And leaves like flocks of golden birds Take flight above the huddling herds. Hark, hark that bell-like baying ! The wily fox with the hound is playing; All is motion, and air, and strife; Down the valley the floods are pouring; This is Autumn, O, this is life; No song-bird sings, but the hawks are soaring, And the brooks are up and roaring! INDOORS IN EARLY SPRING i IN the old farm-house living-room Four shrunken doors shut out the gloom ; Two curtained windows hide night s pall; 286 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS These openings six in the ancient wall Let in the breeze in seams. The air in spark-lit, pouring streams From hearth to heaven leaps. Against the black of the chimney-soot The forked flames upshoot, And the blaze a-roaring keeps. ii Every log is a separate flute; And every chink a singing wire Of some unseen ^Eolian lyre Tuned to the music of the fire. The little tinkling sounds; the low, Sweet whistlings of the bubbling wood; The thundering bass of winds that blow In leafless maples by the road All make a music in the mind; While, book in hand, in musing mood, My body here, my soul in flight, Through the true poet s world I wind, And there a spirit-music find That mixes with the sounding night. THE NIGHT PASTURE i IN a starry night of June, before the moon had come over into our valley from the high valley beyond, Up the winding mountain-lane I wandered, and, stop ping, leaned on the bars, and listened; And I heard the little brook sliding from stone to stone; and I heard the sound of the bells as the cows moved heavily, slowly, THE NIGHT PASTURE 287 In various keys, deep, or like sleigh-bells tinkling, sounded the chiming cow-bells Starting and stilling, irregular; near or far away in the dusk And the nearer cows I heard chewing the cud, and breathing warm on the cool air of the mountain slope In the night pasture. ii Terrace on terrace rises the farm, from meadow and winding river to forest of chestnut and pine; There by the high-road, among the embowering maples, nestles the ancient homestead; From each new point of vantage lovelier seems the valley, and the hill-framed sunset ever more and more moving and glorious; But when in the thunderous city I think of the moun tain farm, nothing so sweet of remembrance, holding me as in a dream, As the silver note of the unseen brook, and the clang ing of the cow-bells fitfully in the dark, and the deep breathing of the cows In the night pasture. in Then I think, not of myself but an image comes to me of one who has past, Of an old man bent with labor; He, like his father before him, for many and many a year, When the cows down the mountains have trudged in the summer evening, and after the evening milking, Night after night, and year after year, back up the lane he has driven them, while the shepherd-dog leaped and barked 288 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS Back up the lane, and past the orchard, and through the bars Into the night pasture. IV There in the twilight I see him stand: He listens to the sounds of the field and the forest, On his brow strikes the cool mountain air; Hard is the old man s life and full indeed of sorrow But now, for a moment, respite from labor, in the pause twixt day and night ! Perhaps to his heart comes a sense of the beauty that fills all this exquisite valley A sense of peace and of rest; a thought of the long and toilless night that comes to all, As he leans on the bars and listens, and hears the deep- breathed cows, and the scattered sound of the bells In the night pasture. A LETTER FROM THE FARM TELL you the news From Four-Brooks Farm? Well, But there is news to tell, As long as my arm ! " What ! a new she-calf born To this world forlorn?" Few things are finer Than a fine heifer-calf, And most things are minor; But t is better by half The news that I ve got now! Such a wonderful lot now A LETTER FROM THE FARM 289 Of heifers, why, what now Such farm news as this ! You were here, when, what bliss! Alpha dropt on our planet, And we all ran to scan it: How the soft thing, with silk down, Had learned to bring milk down Without any teaching, Example, or preaching! Not this is the news From Four-Brooks Farm Nor the ice-pond built Where Hermit Brook spilt; Nor the great pine we found Thunder-burst in the middle And spread on the ground Like the strings of a fiddle; Not of this, not of that, Such news now were flat, But something far racier! Muir, of Alaska, Path-finder, cliff-basker, Known of bird, known of deer (Grizzlies know him, won t harm), John Muir has been here, And has hitched to the farm A great blanket glacier! Don t flout it! don t doubt it! T is as sure and as clear As if on the rock, With chisel and knock, A giant of eld His message had spelled, 2QO POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS And ten thousand years after We read it, with laughter And loyal acclaim, His ancestry, name, The work he was doing, The place whence he came, And the journey pursuing. "This giant of eld! See his path," said John Muir, "Here it held Northwest to southeast; Slow and sure, Like a king at a feast Eating down through the list; Inch by inch, crunch by crunch; Yonder hollow his lunch, Of this valley one gobble, Then he supped light on Cobble! This big boulder, he bore it; Through eons uncounted That range there he mounted, He tore it. Rock-grinding; strata rending; Always pausing; never ending; O what a grand rumpus! Now, down on your knees," Said Muir, "an you please, And out with your compass!" (By the way t was Thoreau s As Muir well knows) And then, in a trice, Where the quartz glistens white, Smooth as ice, In the clear, slanting light STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY The fine striae show, Like arrows they go Northwest to southeast, Just as John Muir pleased! And as he spoke I saw the huge creature glide, With speed that scarcely lessened or increased, From the far pole to ocean s melting tide. Through countless boreal hours It moved on its torn pathway deep and wide; Its shining bulk I saw Crunching the mountain tops with monstrous maw; To make our Four-Brooks Farm with all its flocks and flowers. SUMMER BEGINS THE bright sun has been hid so long, Such endless rains, such clouds and glooms! But now, as with a burst of song, The happy Summer morning blooms. The brooks are full, it is their youth; No hint of shrunken age have they; They shout like children, and in truth, No human child so careless-gay. How fresh the woods, each separate leaf Is shining in the joyful sun. Strange! I have half forgotten grief; I think that life has just begun. "STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY" STROLLING toward Shottery on one showery day, We saw upon the turf beside the path 2Q2 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS A clown who, stooping by the pleasant way, Rough-cobbled his torn shoes and spoke in feigned wrath. At first we thought him brain-touched and askew, But, as we listened to his shrilling talk, We found him prating of some things he knew, Tho others he but guessed; we halted in our walk. His was the wisdom shrewd of roadside men, Gathered in wanderings through the country wide; He had a cynic wit, and to his ken The world wagged wickedly saved by its humorous side. Racy his speech and, tho it bit, good-hearted; There was an honest freshness in the tramp; We felt his debtor, therefore when we parted Some pennies wealthier the philosophic scamp! Laughing we followed on to sweet Anne s cot : Perhaps like us her lover left the town ; Like us he crossed the pretty pasture lot, And met, and made immortal, one more Shake speare clown. STRATFORD BELLS ONE Sabbath eve, betwixt green Avon s banks, In a dream-world we hour by hour did float; The ruffling swans moved by in stately ranks; With soft, sad eyes the cattle watched our boat. We, passionate pilgrims from a far-off land, Beyond the vexed Bermoothes: O, how dear SIR WALTER SCOTT 293 That strange, sweet picture by the Enchanter s wand Familiar to our spirits made, and near! But suddenly a rich and resonant sound Thrilled from the skies and waters; lo, the chimes Of Stratford rang and rang; the very ground Murmured, as with a deep-voiced poet s rhymes; Then swift melodious tone on tone was hurled : Twas Shakespeare s music brimmed the trembling world. IN WORDSWORTH S ORCHARD DOVE COTTAGE IN Wordsworth s orchard, one sweet summer day, Breathless we listened to his thrushes sing; We heard the trickling of the little spring Beneath the terrace; saw the tender play Of breezes midst the leaves; scarce could we say The well-loved verses whose rich blossoming Was on this narrow hillside; strange they ring For tears that choke the numbers on their way. Then home by winding Rothay did we turn While bird, and bloom, and mountain seemed his voice Deep sounding to the spiritual ear And this its message: Let love in thee burn, Here learn in holy beauty to rejoice, Here learn true living, and the song sincere. SIR WALTER SCOTT i RHYMERS and writers of our day, Too much of melancholy! Give us the old heroic lay; 294 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS A whiff of wholesome folly; The escapade, the dance; A touch of wild romance: Wake from this self-conscious fit; Give us again Sir Walter s wit; His love of earth, of sky, of life; His ringing page with humor rife; His never- weary pen; His love of men ! ii Builder of landscape, who could make Turret and tower their stations take Brave in the face of the sun; Of many a mimic world creator, Alive with fight and strenuous fun; Of nothing human he the hater. Nobly could he plan: Master of nature, master of man. m Sometimes I think that He who made us, And on this pretty planet laid us, Made us to work and play Like children in the light of day Not like plodders in the dark, Searching with lanterns for some mark To find the way. After the stroke of pain, Up and to work again! IV Such was his life, without reproach or fear: A lonely fight before the last eclipse A DAY IN TUSCANY 295 A broken heart, a smile upon the lips; And, at the end, When Heaven bent down and whispered in his ear The word God s saints waited and longed to hear, I ween he was as quick as they to comprehend; And, when he past beyond the goal, Entered the gates of pearl no sweeter soul. A DAY IN TUSCANY I KNEW the Rucellai had choice of villas: This day has proved it, this thrice happy day Stolen from care, and many a saddened thought. Have we not seen, we wanderers from afar, Fountained Caneto, standing watch and ward Over Bisenzio s lovely, curving vale! Caneto, olive-cinctured, cypress-crowned, And wreathed in vine; Caneto, whose high hall Bears record of a proud and noble race, Friendly to art and letters (Cimabue Be witness paramount; and the brave front Of Santa Maria Novella; the Academe That in the Garden of the Rucellai Relit the Athenian fire!). Yes, Edith dear, I love Caneto well, but well I love This "Villa of the Little Fields," that hides Embowered among its farms; in rose and lilac Radiant and scented like an April bride; Mid busy sounds secluded and remote. But most I love this tower you call my own, This musing tower that wins the soul to song, From whose four windows, see! the Apennines Make a walled paradise of Tuscany. 296 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS n Beyond the ilex-dome, against the west, The sunset sky was crimson: "Then," you say, "Fair is to-morrow, if the sky was red." "Fair is to-morrow"? O, to-morrow fair That wakes me from this dream? Here from my tower One planet marks where Prato lies below, And yonder, through the tender gray and green Of the high-branching plane-tree, shines a light Betwixt the earth and heaven a lure that means Florence, and all its wonder; now, ah, now The hour draws nigh when Italy once more To me is of the past, a thought, a passion, But all ungrasped of sense. And what is that our Cosimo has said? "To-day the nightingales have come." Have come? And I, tho listening long, and with my soul, I have not heard one tone. In the Tower at CAMPI BISENZIO. A SACRED COMEDY IN FLORENCE IN WHICH TAKES PART A CERTAIN STATUE ON THE FACADE OF THE DUOMO LONELY Pope upon his throne, Cold in marble, high in air, On the Duomo s checkered front Benediction, as is wont, Falling from his saintly face Down upon the clattering square: Falls, to-day, a special grace, For, in fact, he s not alone Solemn Pope upon his throne, THE OLD MASTER 297 White in marble, cold in air ! To those priestly fingers there, Lifted o er the peopled square, A purple pigeon sudden flits, Lightly lights and lingering sits. By the Baptistery gates, Where I stand, I can but smile, Thinking that the potentate s Lips are curving, too, the while; And I wonder what the bird Said that Papa, smiling, heard. MICHAEL ANGELO S AURORA THE MEDICI CHAPEL, FLORENCE O MAJESTY and loveliness in one! Why art thou sorrowful, now night is done? This is the dawn; why doth thy spirit quake? O thou who wakenest! is it pain to wake? THE OLD MASTER OF his dear Lord he painted all the life, But not that ancient land, nor the old days; Not curious he to seek, through learned strife, The look of those far times and unknown ways. But in his solemn and long-living art Well did he paint that which can neve? die : The life and passion of the human heart, Unchanged while sorrowing age on age goes by. Beneath his brush his own loved people grew, Their rivers and their mountains, saints and lords; The dark Italian mothers whom he knew, 298 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS The sad-eyed nuns, the warriors with drawn swords ; And the young Savior, throned at Mary s breast, Was but some little child whom he loved best. AT LUTHER S GRAVE WITTENBERG HERE rests the heart whose throbbing shook the earth ! High soul of courage, we do owe thee much ; Thee and thy warrior comrades, who the worth Of freedom proved and put it to the touch ! Because, O Luther, thou the truth didst love, And spake the truth out, faced the sceptered lie, E en we, thy unforgetting heirs, may move Fearless, erect, unshackled, neath the sky. Yet at this shrine who doth forever linger Shall know not that true freedom Luther won; " Onward," his spirit points, with lifted finger, " Onward lies truth ! My work were never done If souls by me awakened climbed not higher Ever to seek, and fear not, the celestial fire." BEETHOVEN VIENNA I CAME to a great city. Palaces Rose glittering, mile on mile. Here dwells the King, The Emperor and King; here lived, here ruled How many mountainous far-looming fames; Here is the crown of shadowy Charlemagne. What housing of what glorious dignities! Yet in a narrow street, unfrequented, No palace near one name upon a wall, And all these majesties seem small and shrunk: For here unto the bitter end abode EGYPT 299 He who from pain wrought noble joy for men; He who from silence gave the world to song; For in his mind an awful music rose As when, in darkness of the under-seas, Currents tremendous over currents pour. He heard the soundless tone, its voice he was, And he of vast humanity the voice, And his the empire of the human soul. THE DESERT SOULS live for whom the illimitable sands Not lonely are; they see white, phantom hands Beckoning in spectral twilights, and they hear Voices that come not to another ear. The mystic desert calls them, as doth call The sea to those who once have known its thrall The desert that (like to the eternal sea) Creates a visible infinity; There, where the day its quivering fire outpours, A silent ocean breaks on silent shores. Who would be wise Let him consort with Time neath desert skies. EGYPT I THOUGHT, in Egypt, Death was more than Life, It seemed so long; its monuments so great; The emptiness of tombs was such high state, No living thought, or power, or potentate So glorious seemed, wrapt in such splendid gloom. For I perceived that in each ancient tomb, Long ages since, dead kings for Death made room. Not here the Dead, but Death alone, supreme : In Egypt Death was real Life a winged Dream. 300 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS SYRIA I THOUGHT in Syria, Life was more than Death. A tomb there was forsaken of its dead, But Death filled not the place; here with bowed head Worships the world forever at the tread Of one who lived, who liveth, and shall live Whose grave is but a footstep on the sod; Men kiss the ground where living feet have trod. Here not to Death but Life, they worship give. August is Death, but this one tomb is rife With a more mighty presence; it is Life. THE DEAD POET A. H. His was the love of art and song, And well he loved the flowery way; Yet great his wrath at prospered wrong; When evil triumphed day by day Then plunged he in the fray. And when brave innocence went down Then did the vanquished find a friend. With him went justice through the town; No foeman ever saw him bend; He scorn for scorn could send. Men said his heritage was lost ; For, born to gentler use, his youth Was wasted in rude strife; the cost Too great, they deemed, altho , in sooth, Through him men learned of Truth. WAR 301 So were his songs but brief and few; Yet of some lives they were a part, And on some souls they fell like dew; Dead now men say : he gave to art The epic of the heart. WAR Two men on thrones, or crouched behind, With cunning words the world would blind. With faces grave, averse from spoils, They weave their thieving, cynic toils. One thing they mean, another speak; Bland phrases utter, tongue in cheek. Stale truths turn lies on velvet lips; The candid heavens are in eclipse; From crooked minds, and hearts all black, Comes WAR upon its flaming track, And reeking fiends in happy hell Shout, "All is well!" ii Then lives surprise! While not a devil dares to shirk, But all his hellish malice plies The angels, too, begin their work. Now every virtue issues forth And busy is from south to north: Self-sacrifice, and love, and pity Tramp all the rounds in field and city; Mercy beyond a price, sweet ruth, Courage and comradeship and truth, 302 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS And gentlest deed and noblest thought, Into the common day are brought. Man lives at heaven s gate, and dies For fellow-man with joyful cries. in And all the while hell s imps are free To work their will with fearful glee. The beast in man anew is born; Revenge, and lust, and pride, and scorn, And glory false, and hateful hate, All join to desecrate the state. THE BLAMELESS KNIGHT WHERE led the bright and blameless plume We charged the shameless foe; Whether to win or lose our doom We never cared to know. His voice was as a scimitar, Superb and sure his stroke; And where he came their men-of-war In panic fury broke. Once more we gathered for the fight Against the ranks of shame; Again we called the blameless knight And cheered him as he came. But, God of grace ! not with us now Our valiant knight doth go : A plume of black above his brow He leads the shameless foe ! THE TOOL 303 They are the same, that shameful horde, The same their shameless song; Beneath his shield they draw the sword For rapine and for wrong. Fight on! fight on! brave comrades all, Nor weep the blameless knight ; They cannot fail, what tho they fall, Who battle for the right. One Captain less in our good war, But see! a thousand spring Intent as never men before To strike the Accursed Thing. THE DEMAGOGUE ALL mouth, no mind ; a mindless mouth in sooth ; He does not bend his strength to seek the truth, But, shrewdly guessing what may take the crowd, With tragic grimace, this he shouts aloud. No true opinion, no fixed faith has he, But gravely simulates sincerity. His many causes swift resolve to one: You find him his own cause when all is done. THE TOOL THE man of brains, of fair repute, and birth, Who loves high place above all else of earth ; Who loves it so, he 11 go without the power If he may hold the semblance but an hour ; Willing to be some sordid creature s tool So he but seem a little while to rule; On him even moral pigmies would look down; Were prizes given for shame, he d wear the crown. 304 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS THE NEW POLITICIAN WHILE others hedged, or silent lay, He to the people spoke all day; Ay, and he said precisely what He thought; each time he touched the spot. " In heaven s name, what does he mean ! Was ever such blind folly seen!" The wag-beard politicians cried: "Can no one stop the man?" they sighed. "This talking frankly may be fun, But when have such mad tactics won? He may be happy, but the cost Is ours! The whole election s lost!" And still the people at his feet Followed and cheered from street to street. Truly this ne er was known before : No soldier, sailor, orator, No hero home from battle he Whom welcoming thousands rush to see; But just a man who dared to take His stand on justice, make or break; T was all because the people found A man by no conventions bound; Who sought to heal their black disgrace By treating rich and poor the same, Giving to crime its ugly name, Damning the guilty to their face. And when the votes, at last, were read Our candidate ran clear ahead! This be his glory and renown : He told the truth and took the town. SONG 305 A LADY TO A KNIGHT SIR Knight, thou lovest not, If thou wouldst be too dear; And I less worshipful, I wot, If thou couldst kneel so near! So must thy shield of flawless fame Shine clear in honor s light; Lest I should know a queenly shame To find thee less a knight. "IS HOPE A PHANTOM?" Is Hope a phantom? Holds the crystal cup Sweet madness only an we drink it up ? A respite ere the poor, doomed soul is killed? Then spake one who had loved : " Hope is no lie, But real as answered Love, or unfulfilled ; Yet were Hope phantom-false, still would I cry, 1 Hail, Thou Bright Poisoner I let me drink, and die I " SONG IF, lest thy heart betray thee, Thou to one lover wouldst not constant be, And yet thou couldst love me This boon I pray thee: Divide the dark from light, Love me by night. If thy sweet thought would find me, Not through the garish day, O, give it wing: In shadows clasp and cling, 306 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS And bless and blind me ! When stars are still and bright Love me by night. In longing dreams I ll name thee; In secret hours, when breathes the midnight rose, Thy heart in mine shall close, Great love shall claim thee: O mine in dark and light, In day and night! MEMORY INTO this musing, Memory! thou hast brought Me, thy true vassal; into this delight That is more poignant for the haunting grief; And as thou leadest on I follow, follow, Down the deep, woody pathway of my dream, Feeling the breath of flowers colorless And airs that change their seasons as I wander, Falling or cool or warm upon the brow. The river shimmers twixt the shadowy boles; Scarce seen the stars for the high, monstrous leaves That make a lovers screen; while the large moon, Late risen, sends three beams athwart the path. It is not night, nor day, it is the time Of the clear spirit s life; the soul s high noon; The hour most fit for passion s holy birth. O mellow eve, unstartled by a bird! O night whose light is deepening up the sky ! *T was such a night when one low-murmured word, A word all miracle, made of my soul Naught but a singing rapture. JANET 307 "O, GLORIOUS SABBATH SUN" i O, GLORIOUS Sabbath sun, thou art A balm and blessing to my heart; Dark sorrow flies, and in thy shine Bursts o er the world a flood divine. ii So may the light beyond the skies Illume and bless my inward eyes, That each new day may bring to me The splendor of eternity. MOTTO FOR A TREE-PLANTING STAY as the tree go as the wind ; Whate er thy place, serve God and kind! The tree holds commerce with the skies Tho from its place it never flies. They serve their God; they do not roam, The stormy winds that have no home. JANET I REMEMBER That November When the new November child On this old world woke and smiled. Here s a woman, Sweet and human, And they call her Janet, now I can t make it out, I vow. 308 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS It only seems One night of dreams; Years they say; how do they plan it? What s become of Little Janet? Never mind; She s good; she s kind; Age can never bend or win her; There s a heart of youth within her. ON BEING ASKED FOR A SONG CONCERNING THE DEDICATION OF A MOUNTAIN IN SAMOA TO THE MEMORY OF STEVENSON A Letter to I. O. S. BUT, friend of mine, and his, I am afraid! How can I make a song When the true song is made! For this you say: Because that Tusitala loved the birds, They who named Tusitala (weaver of charmed words Teller of Tales) Have given his mountain to the birds forever! There all day long Bright-plumaged island-birds make gay the dales, From off the sea the swift white bosun over the mountain sails, From many a large-leaved tree The gray dove cooes its low, insistent song. From those green hights and vales They shall be absent never To show what love can be from man to man. Lovers of Birds and Poets this is glory ! It is a poem, that which these Chiefs have done, TO L. R. S. 309 In memory of him, the only one. And yet our Tusitala could have sung again the pretty story Alas, none other can! TO AUSTIN DOBSON LAUREATE of the Gentle Heart ! Only art like your own art, Limpid, gracious, happy-phrased, Could praise you as you should be praised. Many a lyric you have writ, Grave with pathos, gay with wit, Or conceived in larger mood, Shall outlast the clattering brood That usurp our noisy day; Shall, with all that s noble, stay In our well-loved English tongue Till the ending song is sung; For no purer tone was heard Since men sought Beauty and the Word. TO L. R. S. LISA Romana ! no mean city gave Thee to the world, sired by as true a knight As e er the flying paynim s helmet clave, Leading a hope forlorn in glorious fight ! And thou, dear, stately maid, no knight of old, That eastward battles down the pleasant page Of chivalry, ever in heart did hold A queenlier image face more brightly grave. Be kind to her, ye seas, ye winds that blow, On the long journey homeward, and one day, Ocean and wild sea- winds! swift make return 310 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS Of her ye take from us; ay, let her yearn Back, back to us once more; before this gray Whitens, and hearts that love her are laid low. A NAME MANY the names, the souls, the faces dear That I have longed to frame in verse sincere; But one high name, sweet soul, and face of love Seemed ever my poor art, O, far above. Like Mary s, stricken with sorrow was that face; Like hers it wore a most majestic grace. That soul was tender as the sunset sky, And full of lofty dream her days went by; That name than God s alone there is no other Holy as thine to me, O sacred Mother! JOHN GEORGE NICOLAY WASHINGTON, D. C., SEPTEMBER, IQOI THIS man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love; Through the long storm, right there, by Lincoln s side, He stood, his shield and servitor; when died The great, sweet, sorrowful soul still high above All other passions, love for the spirit fled! To this one task his pure life was assigned: He strove to make the world know Lincoln s mind: He served him living, and he served him dead. So shall the light from that immortal fame Keep bright forever this most faithful name. THE COMFORT OF THE TREES McKINLEY: SEPTEMBER, IQOI GENTLE and generous, brave-hearted, kind, And full of love and trust was he, our chief; THE CITY OF LIGHTS 311 He never harmed a soul ! O, dull and blind And cruel, the hand that smote, beyond belief! Strike him? It could not be! Soon should we find T was but a torturing dream our sudden grief ! Then sobs and wailings down the northern wind Like the wild voice of shipwreck from a reef! By false hope lulled (his courage gave us hope !) By day, by night we watched until unfurled At last the word of fate! Our memories Cherish one tender thought in their sad scope: He, looking from the window on this world, Found comfort in the moving green of trees. THE CITY OF LIGHT THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION WHAT shall we name it As is our bounden duty This new, swift-builded fairy city of Beauty; What name that shall not shame it; Shall make it live beyond its too short living With praises and thanksgiving ! Its name how shall we doubt it, We who have seen, when the blue darkness falls, Leap into lines of light its domes, and spires, and walls, Pylons, and colonnades, and towers, All garlanded with starry flowers ! Its name what heart that did not shout it When, from afar, flamed sudden against the night The City of Light! AMHERST HOUSE, BUFFALO, May, 1901. INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION BUFFALO, 1901 INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE PROPYL^A PANEL I HERE, BY THE GREAT WATERS OF THE NORTH, ARE BROUGHT TOGETHER THE PEOPLES OF THE TWO AMERICAS, IN EXPOSITION OF THEIR RESOURCES, INDUS TRIES, PRODUCTS, INVENTIONS, ARTS, AND IDEAS PANEL II THAT THE CENTURY NOW BEGUN MAY UNITE IN THE BONDS OF PEACE, KNOWLEDGE, GOOD-WILL, FRIENDSHIP, AND NOBLE EMULA TION ALL THE DWELLERS ON THE CONTINENTS AND ISLANDS OF THE NEW WORLD FOR THE STADIUM PANEL I NOT IGNOBLE ARE THE DAYS OF PEACE, NOT WITHOUT COURAGE AND LAURELED VICTORIES 316 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS PANEL II HE WHO FAILS BRAVELY HAS NOT TRULY FAILED, BUT IS HIM SELF ALSO A CONQUEROR PANEL III WHO SHUNS THE DUST AND SWEAT OF THE CONTEST, ON HIS BROW FALLS NOT THE COOL SHADE OF THE OLIVE FOR THE GREAT PYLONS OF THE TRIUMPHAL CAUSEWAY ON THE PYLONS WERE STATUES OF COURAGE, LIBERTY, TOLER ANCE, TRUTH, BENEVOLENCE, PATRIOTISM, HOSPITALITY, AND JUSTICE PANEL I THE SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE IS THE MAKER OF COMMON WEALTHS PANEL II FREEDOM IS BUT THE FIRST LESSON IN SELF-GOVERNMENT FOR THE GREAT PYLONS 317 PANEL III RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE A SAFE GUARD OF CIVIL LIBERTY PANEL IV A FREE STATE EXISTS ONLY IN THE VIRTUE OF THE CITIZEN PANEL V WHO GIVES WISELY BUILDS MAN HOOD AND THE STATE WHO GIVES HIMSELF GIVES BEST PANEL VI TO LOVE ONE S COUNTRY ABOVE ALL OTHERS IS NOT TO DESPISE ALL OTHERS PANEL VII THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN, THE FEDERATION OF NATIONS, THE PEACE OF THE WORLD PANEL VIII BETWEEN NATION AND NATION, AS BETWEEN MAN AND MAN, LIVES THE ONE LAW OF RIGHT 318 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS DEDICATORY INSCRIPTIONS PANEL I TO THE ANCIENT RACES OF AMERICA, FOR WHOM THE NEW WORLD WAS THE OLD, THAT THEIR LOVE OF FREEDOM AND OF NATURE, THEIR HARDY COUR AGE, THEIR MONUMENTS, ARTS, LEGENDS, AND STRANGE SONGS MAY NOT PERISH AND BE FORGOTTEN PANEL II TO THE EXPLORERS AND PIO NEERS WHO BLAZED THE WEST WARD PATH OF CIVILIZATION, TO THE SOLDIERS AND SAILORS WHO FOUGHT FOR FREEDOM AND FOR PEACE, AND TO THE CIVIC HEROES WHO SAVE A PRICELESS HERITAGE PANEL III TO THE GREAT INVENTORS AND FARSEEING PROJECTORS, TO THE ENGINEERS, MANUFACTURERS, AGRICULTURISTS, AND MER CHANTS WHO HAVE DEVELOPED THE RESOURCES OF THE NEW WORLD, AND MULTIPLIED THE HOMES OF FREEMEN DEDICATORY INSCRIPTIONS 319 PANEL IV TO THOSE WHO IN THE DEADLY MINE, ON STORMY SEAS, IN THE FIERCE BREATH OF THE FUR NACE, AND IN ALL PERILOUS PLACES WORKING CEASELESSLY BRING TO THEIR FELLOW MEN COMFORT, SUSTENANCE, AND THE GRACE OF LIFE PANEL V TO THE SCHOLARS AND LABORI OUS INVESTIGATORS WHO, IN THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW, GUARD THE LAMP OF KNOW LEDGE AND, CENTURY BY CEN TURY, INCREASE THE SAFETY OF LIFE, ENLIGHTEN THE MIND AND ENLARGE THE SPIRIT OF MAN PANEL VI TO THOSE PAINTERS, SCULPTORS, AND ARCHITECTS, TELLERS OF TALES, POETS, AND CREATORS OF MUSIC, TO THOSE ACTORS AND MUSICIANS WHO IN THE NEW WORLD HAVE CHERISHED AND INCREASED THE LOVE OF BEAUTY 320 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS PANEL VII TO THE PROPHETS AND HEROES, TO THE MIGHTY POETS AND DI VINE ARTISTS, AND TO ALL THE LIGHTBEARERS OF THE ANCIENT WORLD WHO INSPIRED OUR FOREFATHERS AND SHALL LEAD AND ENLIGHTEN OUR CHIL DREN S CHILDREN PANEL VIII TO THE STATESMEN, PHILOSO PHERS, TEACHERS, AND PREACH ERS, AND TO ALL THOSE WHO, IN THE NEW WORLD, HAVE UPHELD THE IDEALS OF LIBERTY AND JUSTICE, AND HAVE BEEN FAITH FUL TO THE THINGS THAT ARE ETERNAL "IN THE RIGHTS" "IN THE RIGHTS" "IN THE MIGHTS" ONE who this valley passionately loved No more these slopes shall climb, nor hear these streams That, like the murmured melody of dreams, His happy spirit moved. He knew the sudden and mysterious thrill That takes the heart of man on mountain hights, These autumn days that flame from hill to hill, These deep and starry nights. O vanished spirit! tell us, if so may be, Are our wild longings, stirred by scenes like this Our deep-breathed, shadowless felicity A mocking, empty bliss? No answering word, save from the inmost soul That cries: all things are real beauty, youth; All the heart feels; of sorrow and joy the whole; That which but seems is truth. This mortal frame, that harbors the immortal, Mechanic tho it be, in our life s fires Turns spiritual; it becomes the portal Wherethrough the soul aspires. The soul s existence in its human sheath Is life no more than is the spirit s life 324 IN THE EIGHTS In this wide nature whose keen air we breathe; Whose strife arms us to strife. And they are wise who seek not to destroy The unreasoned happiness of the outpoured year. To him, the lost, this vale brought no false joy, And therefore is most dear. Wherever in the majesty of space, Near or afar, but not from God afar, Where er his spirit soars, whatever grace Is his, whatever star The aspirations and imaginings That in these glorious paths his soul sublimed, They are a part of him; they are the wings Whereby he strove and climbed. Nature to man not alien doth endure; Her spirit in his spirit is transfused; On this high mystery dream the humble-pure, The mightiest poets mused. The white clouds billow down the blowing sky, Then, O my heart, be lifted up, rejoice ! The trumpet of the winds, to that wild voice Let all my soul reply! HOME ACRES A SENSE of pureness in the air, Of wholesome life in growing things; Waving of blossom, blade, and wings; Perfume and beauty everywhere; Sky, trees, the grass, the very loam I love them all; this is our home. A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 325 God! make me worthy of Thy land Which mine I call a little while; This meadow where the sunset s smile Falls like a blessing from Thy hand, And where the river singing runs Neath wintry skies and summer suns! Million on million years have sped To frame green fields and bowering hills : The mortal for a moment tills His span of earth, then is he dead: This knows he well, yet doth he hold His paradise like miser s gold. I would be nobler than to clutch My little world with gloating grasp; Now, while I live, my hands unclasp, Or let me hold it not so much For my own joy as for the good Of all the gentle brotherhood. And as the seasons move in mirth Of bloom and bird, of snow and leaf, May my calm spirit rise from grief, In solace of the lovely earth; And tho the land be dark or lit, O, let me gather songs from it. A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS I CALLED you once to the sea, Come now to the mountains; Climb the earth s ramparts with me, Drink her deep fountains! On the food that you love make merry; Forget grind and grief 326 IN THE RIGHTS In the red and the tang of the berry, The bronze of the leaf. Chestnuts are ripe on the bough, And the burrs all are bursting; For a tramp with you, John, I vow! I am hungering and thirsting. Come, John, or you 11 be to blame ; The birds wait your biding. One of them, hearing your name, Flashed forth from its hiding; See, it is searching for you Its pretty head cocking; Pecking, and looking askew, On the bare bough rocking. And yonder a stray wing flitters; A great hawk soars; The lakelet gleams and glitters; The high wind roars. Nearer, from field and thicket, Come musical calls; The tinkling, clear note of the cricket, Chime of ripples and falls. From the meadow far up to the hight The leaves all are turning; By the time you have come to the sight The world will be blazing and burning. John of Birds, tarry not till The first wild snow- flurry; Voices of forest and hill Cry hurry, O hurry ! THE LIGHT LIES ON THE FARTHER HILLS 327 SPRING SURPRISE Lo, now it comes once more; lo, my heart leaps again; Comes swift the dear surprise, not at the spring, alone, But, as a soul that knew, many a year agone, All the full bloom of love, since the gray ashes Feels all the glad surprise when the o er-wearied heart Still knows the joy of life, as in the olden days; That love can thrill again ; so the spring calls once more With the old tenderness ; till my heart trembles. AUTUMN TREES BUT yesterday a world of haze, To-day, a glory of color and light! Like golden voices shouting praise The bright trees flame along the hight. Who would have thought, the summer through, Each separate tree of all the choir, Lifting its green against the blue, Held at its heart such flame and fire? "THE LIGHT LIES ON THE FARTHER HILLS" THE clouds upon the mountains rest; A gloom is on the autumn day; But down the valley, in the west, The hidden sunlight breaks its way A light lies on the farther hills. Forget thy sorrow, heart of mine ! Tho shadows fall and fades the leaf, 328 IN THE EIGHTS Somewhere is joy, tho t is not thine ; The power that sent can heal thy grief; And light lies on the farther hills. Thou wouldst not with the world be one If ne er thou knewest hurt and wrong; Take comfort, tho* the darkened sun Never again bring gleam or song, The light lies on the farther hills. "AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND" AH, near, dear friend of many and many years! I have known thy lovelinesses known thy tears, Thy smiles, like sunlight crossing shade, Thy spirit unafraid. All these have been like music to my soul; These, having fashioned me, should I extol, It were, in sooth, myself to praise O Light of all my days ! Thy smiles, thy tears, thy exquisite sad words Mystic as, in the moonlight, songs of birds; But, O, more wonderful than these, Thy lonely silences. MUSIC IN DARKNESS AT the dim end of day I heard the great musician play: Saw her white hands now slow, now swiftly pass; Where gleamed the polished wood, as in a glass, MUSIC IN DARKNESS 329 The shadow hands repeating every motion. Then did I voyage forth on music s ocean, Visiting many a sad or joyful shore, Where storming breakers roar, Or singing birds made music so intense, So intimate of happiness or sorrow, I scarce could courage borrow To hear those strains: well-nigh I hurried thence To escape the intolerable weight That on my spirit fell when sobbed the music : late, too late, too late! While slow withdrew the light And, on the lyric tide, came in the night. ii So grew the dark, enshrouding all the room In a melodious gloom, Her face growing viewless; line by line That swaying form did momently decline And was in darkness lost. Then white hands ghostly turned, tho still they tost From tone to tone; pauseless and sure as if in perfect light; With blind, instinctive, most miraculous sight, On, on they sounded in that world of night. m Ah, dearest one; was this thy thought, as mine, As still the music stayed? " So shall the loved ones fade, Feature by feature, line on lovely line; For all our love, alas, From twilight into darkness shall they pass! We in that dark shall see them nevermore, 33 IN THE HIGHTS But from our spirits they shall not be banished; For on and on shall the sweet music pour That was the soul of them, the loved, the vanished; And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite In that mysterious night." THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN THIS night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of Beethoven Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan tower The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and the deep- cut windows Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four-square world When sudden the music turned to anger, as nature s murmur Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice infuriate, Cruel, quick, implacable; inhuman, savage, resistless And I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging back in scorn tempestuous And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous arrows of fortune. MOTHER AND CHILD MOTHER and Child ! There is no holier sight In all the realms of morning and of night; And all the meaning of that word, DIVINE, Shines in the tender glory of this sign. The world learns Worship here; it kneels in awe, Seeing a mystery, knowing a mighty law. Sin cannot live in presence of this grace, No least unworthiness perplex the place. MOTHER OF HEROES 331 Here Good doth dwell, but never baneful Doubt, For Love and Loveliness would cast it out. Were prophet voices still, the heavens brass, Here would a new Evangel come to pass; Out from the dark a rose-leaf hand would leap, Close to the Eternal Throne the ancient world to keep. ALICE FREEMAN PALMER WHEN fell, to-day, the word that she had gone, Not this my thought : Here a bright journey ends, Here rests a soul unresting; here, at last, Here ends that earnest strength, that generous life For all her life was giving. Rather this I said (after the first swift, sorrowing pang) : Radiant with love, and love s unending power, Hence, on a new quest, starts an eager spirit No dread, no doubt, unhesitating forth With asking eyes; pure as the bodiless souls Whom poets vision near the central throne Angelically ministrant to man; So fares she forth with smiling, God ward face; Nor should we grieve, but give eternal thanks Save that we mortal are, and needs must mourn. "MOTHER OF HEROES" SARAH BLAKE SHAW MOTHER of heroes, she of them who gave Their lives to lift the lowly, free the slave. Her, through long years, two master passions bound : Love of our free land; and of all sweet sound. T was praising her to praise this land of grace; And when I think on music lo, her face! 332 IN THE HIGHTS THE GREAT CITIZEN ABRAM STEVENS HEWITT MOURN for his death, but for his life rejoice, Who was the city s heart, the city s voice. Dauntless in youth, impetuous in age, Weighty in speech, in civic counsel sage; Talents and wealth to him were but a trust To lift his hapless brother from the dust; This his chief aim: to wake, in every man, The soul to do what only courage can. He saw the evil, as the wise must see, But firm his faith in what the world shall be. Following the truth, he led his fellow-men Through years and virtues the great citizen ! By being great, he made the city great; Serving the city, he upheld the state. So shall the city win a purer fame Led by the living splendor of his name. ON READING OF A POET S DEATH I READ that, in his sleep, the poet died Ere the day broke; In a new dawn, as rose earth s crimson tide, His spirit woke. A WONDROUS SONG 333 Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed: On the same page That told his end, his living verse I read His lyric rage. Behold ! I thought, they call him cold in death, But hither turn See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath, Doth pulse and burn! This is the poet s triumph, his high doom! After life s stress, For him the silent, dark, o er-shadowing tomb Is shadowless. And this the miracle, the mystery: In that he gives His soul away, magnificently free By this he lives. JOHN HENRY BONER IN life s hard fight this poet did his part; He was a hero of the mind and heart. Now rests his body neath his own loved skies, And from his tomb Courage! his spirit cries. "A WONDROUS SONG" A WONDROUS song, Rank with sea smells and the keen lust of life; Echoing with battle trumpets, and the moan Of dying men in reeking hospitals; Thrilling all through with human pity and love And crying courage in the face of doom; With all its love of life still praising death 334 IN THE HIGHTS Enchantingly, as death was never praised; And with high anger and a god-like scorn Passionately proclaiming life in death And the unquenched, immortal soul of man A wondrous song, Trembling with unshed tears and life s full joy, Burst the tense meshes of the critic s web And sang itself into eternal day. A NEW POET i FRIENDS, beware! Stop babbling! Hark, a sound is in the air! Above the pretty songs of schools (Not of music made, but rules), Above the panic rush for gold And emptinesses manifold, And selling of the soul for phantom fame, And reek of praises where there should be blame; Over the dust and muck, The buzz and roar of wheels, Another music steals; A right, true note is struck. n Friends, beware! A sound of singing in the air! The love-song of a man who loves his fellow-men ; Mother-love and country-love, and the love of sea and fen ; Lovely thoughts and mighty thoughts and thoughts that linger long; There has come to the old world s singing the thrill of a brave new song. BREAD UPON THE WATERS 335 in They said there were no more singers, But listen ! a master voice ! A voice of the true joy-bringers ! Now will ye heed and rejoice, Or pass on the other side, And wait till the singer has died, Then weep o er his voiceless clay? Friends, beware! A keen, new sound is in the air; Know ye a poet s coming is the old world s judgment day! THE SINGER OF JOY HE sang the rose, he praised its fragrant breath; (Alas, he saw the gnawing worm beneath.) He sang of summer and the flowing grass; (He knew that all the beauty quick would pass.) He said the world was good and skies were fair; (He saw far, gathering clouds, and days of care.) Immortally he sang pure friendship s flame; (Yet had he seen it shrivel to a name.) And, ah, he praised true love, with golden speech; (What tho it was a star he could not reach.) His songs in cowering souls the hero woke ; (He in the shadows waited the last stroke.) He was the singer of the joyous art; (Down to the grave he bore a broken heart.) BREAD UPON THE WATERS A MELANCHOLY, life e er-wearied man Sat in his lonely room, and, with slow breath, Counted his losses: thrice-wreckt plan on plan, 336 IN THE RIGHTS Failure of friend, and hope, and heart, and faith This last the deadliest, and holding all. Help was there none through weeping, for the years Had stolen all his treasury of tears. Then on a page where his eyes chanced to fall There sprang such words of courage that they seemed Cries on a battlefield, or as one dreamed Of trumpets sounding charges. On he read With fixed gaze, and sad, down-drooping head, And curious, half-remembering, musing mind. The ringing of that voice had something stirred In his deep heart, like music long since heard. "Brave words," he sighed; and looked where they were signed ; There, reading his own name, tears made him blind. LOST AN old, blind poet, sitting sad and lone, Thinking his scribe was near, chimed slowly forth Into the empty and unheeding air A song, of all his songs the loveliest. That night he died, and the sweet song was lost. A million roses and uncounted worlds Unknown, save to their Maker, strew the flood Of heedless and immeasurable time. "WHAT MAN HATH DONE" THUS did he speak, thus was he comforted: "I yet shall learn to live ere I am dead; I shall be firm of will, know false from true: Each error will but show me how to do, HE PONDERED WELL 337 When next the occasion calls. I shall pursue The path that grim experience has taught." This was his solace, this his saving thought. Then came a sudden knocking at the door. He rose and did what he had done before : He looked into the dark, he flinched, he quailed; The occasion came, and once again he failed. Thus wrote a man who had seen much of men: "What man hath done, that will he do again." Yet are there souls who, having clinched with fate, Have learned to live, ere it was all too late. Be it thy hope, tho seven times a fool, To get some lessons in life s fearful school. "HE PONDERED WELL" HE pondered well, looked in his heart, And bravely did his part. Then spake the Ironic Powers That rule the prostrate hours: " Look now on this your deed ; Despite your heroic creed, Your pondering and your prayers, Behold how ill the pretty project fares! Not hotly were you driven; For thought and thought the days were seven; All was wisdom, all was cool And now one name you to yourself have given: T is fool, fool, fool, and only fool!" Hast thou kept honor, and sweet courtesy kept, Then is no loss that may be wailed or wept. 33 8 IN THE RIGHTS "THOU THINKEST THOU HAST LIVED" THOU thinkest thou hast lived If fortune fair hath touched thee with its wand, If thou hast known, but once, the top of life In giving royally, in truly loving, In braving some great deed in sight of men, Or issuing victorious from strife. Not so; nor hast of life the flower and hight In suffering that others may go free. For thee the sequent years still proudly hold A keener sense of the rich depths of being, When thou, brave novice, shalt endure the lore Of fate s immeasurable ironies. Thou may st behold the scorn of thee and thine Sit on the laureled brow of him thy hand Helped to that heaven; yes, thou yet may st see Success, in them thou gavest strength to rise, Used for thine own disfigurement and loss; May st know betrayal and forgetfulness, And knowing shalt thy spirit hold in calm; Pitying the arrogant, the meanly vain, Unbitterly, and with no cloying hate, Disdain, nor envy; comforted and blest With the high thought of knowledge, worthily gained, And the humility which makes men wise, And the uncensured pride of purity. THE GOOD MAN WHAT do you know of me, my gentlest one ! You who have watched my life from day to day Through half a lifetime! Who have seen, indeed, My comings and my goings; my dull years In sunshine and in shade; in getting bread; TWO HEROES 339 Gathering a little gold, a little fame, A thousand nothings. What, I say, know you Of my deep, inward, real, wonderful life? My wild emprizes, foolishnesses, fears, Failures, and shames, and all but acted crimes; My half-mad waking dreams, O, yes, stark mad; My spiritual comedies, my glooms Unutterable, intense, and without hope; My secret, true, and unpraised heroisms; My tragedies played on the bare soul s stage, With no eye witnessing but mine, alone Great God! not thine, I pray, not thine, not thine! "SO FIERCE THE BUFFETS" So fierce the buffets of untimely fate He bowed his youthful head in mortal pain, And cried: "Alas, my happy life is slain!" Then came true sorrow, and he knew, too late, His early woe was but a feather s weight. TWO HEROES Two heroes do the world s insistent work : One rushes in the battle s blood and murk, And, knowing the foeman flies, In one rich moment dies. The other, on a path he long has feared, By bugle blast and drum-beat all uncheered, At duty s chill behest Gives life to want and waste. For him, the battle hero, high we pile The sculptured stone ; his ringing name, the while, In praises and in songs Its lyric life prolongs. 340 IN THE HIGHTS For the other, we fashion a heaven of late reward; His life, all dark, and desolate, and hard, Down to oblivion goes Unless some great God knows! THE WORLD S END ONCE wandering far in Asia, lo, we came Unto a valley falling toward the east; Naked its sides as if a spreading flame Had swept all bare; devouring, in mad feast, Forest and herb, all beasts and singing choirs. With ardent colors were the vast hills strewn, Glowing like unquenched embers of great fires; Then sank the red sun, rose immense the moon. So builded were those walls, so leaned the earth, With slow, unnatural, and awful trend, It seemed, at last, in this strange land of dearth, Even just beyond, the solid world had end And, moving on, our vision might take flight Into that pit whence issue day and night. SHELLEY S "OZYMANDIAS" THIS timeless river oldest of all time, These desolate mountains, deserts stretching vast; These pyramids and temples; this domain - Of tombs; and empty shadows of the dead, And mockery of old fame ; here day and night I wander, not alone, nor with sad heart : One line of Shelley singing in my soul. INAUGURATION DAY 341 LA SALLE EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI BATTLING, through trackless lands, gainst savage foes; Striving, enduring, knowing the bitterness Of foul betrayal, still in front he goes; Onward through swamp and forest see him press, Proud, silent, suffering, misunderstood; The weight he bore, it seemed that no man could; Then at the last, when the infernal stroke Fell, t was as if the silent leader spoke : " This river I first traced to the far sea If monument I need, this let it be; Then shall I live with the chief sons of time. This is the path of empire : onward to empire climb ! " INAUGURATION DAY ON this great day a child of time and fate On a new path of power doth stand and wait. Tho heavy-burdened shall his heart rejoice, Dowered with a nation s faith, an empire s choice. Who hath no strength, but that the people give, And in their wills, alone, his will doth live. On this one day, this, this, is their one man, The well-beloved, the chief American ! Whose people are his brothers, fathers, sons: In this his strength, and not a million guns. 342 IN THE HIGHTS Whose power is mightier than the mightiest crown, Because that soon he lays that power down. Whose wish, linked to the people s, shall exceed The force of civic wrong and banded greed. Whose voice, in friendship or in warning heard, Brings to the nations a free people s word; And, where the opprest out from the darkness grope, T is as the voice of freedom and of hope. O pray that he may rightly rule the state, And grow, in truly serving, truly great. THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT AT WASHINGTON, D. C. STRAIGHT soars to heaven the white magnificence Free as man s thought, high as one lonely name; True image of his soul, serene, immense, Mightiest of monuments and mightiest fame. BUILDERS OF THE STATE WHO builds the state? Not he whose power Rooted in wrong, in gold intrenched, Makes him the regent of the hour; The eternal light cannot be quenched: This shall outlive his little span; Shine fierce upon each tainted scheme; Shall show where shame blots all the plan ; The treachery in the dazzling dream. BUILDERS OF THE STATE 343 He builds the state who builds on truth, Not he who, crushing toward his aim, Strikes conscience from the throne, and ruth, To win a dark, unpiteous fame. Not he, tho master among men, Empire and ages all his thought Tho like an eagle be his ken: Down to the ground shall all be brought. For this I hold, and shall for aye, Till Heaven sends death, that they who sow Hate, and the blood of brothers, they Shall harvest hate and want and woe The curse of Earth s dread agonies Whereto they added, in their hour, And all the unheeded tears and cries They caused in lust of lawless power. He builds the state who to that task Brings strong, clean hands, and purpose pure; Who wears not virtue as a mask; He builds the state that shall endure The state wherein each loyal son Holds as a birthright from true sires Treasures of honor, nobly won, And freedom s never-dying fires. 344 IN THE HIGHTS IMPROMPTUS TO WILLIAM WATSON ON HIS CORONATION ODE (These lines were first published on the day the King was to have been crowned.) IN this high ode with its great shadow-kings, More real than real things; In this proud pageant of imperial verse That nobly doth rehearse England s true glories, for the world to read, The King is crowned indeed! (SIDNEY LAMER) LIFE is the hammer that strikes From the bell of the poet s heart Art. And whether he lives or dies The music in widening rings Sings. "THE CRITIC SCANNED THE POET S BOOK" THE critic scanned the poet s book And ranged it calmly in its place A soul that felt its music shook As if a bolt struck down through space; And in that soul, like flower from seed, The music turned to lofty deed That sanctified a race. IMPROMPTUS 345 "HER DELICATE FORM" HER delicate form, her night of hair, Took me, unaware. They called her poet, and the word Strangely I heard; For that I thought : Can she A poem write, and be ? FRANCESCA MIA No verses I can bring her, No song that I can sing her, Can be so sweet, by half, As the music of her laugh, As the murmur of her voice, As the sound of her violin. These make my heart rejoice, These me to heaven can win. But something in her face, Sad, wild, and full of grace A look in those dark eyes That dream, and flash, and dance, And with soft shadows fill These bring one long-loved glance, Tender, and deep, and wise; Then doth my heart stand still. AGE, AND THE SCORNER As I hobble, old and halt, Daily, nightly, By you, hectoring on the corner, I know you for a graybeard scorner, Tho you raise your hat politely: 346 IN THE HIGHTS I know you hold it for a fault That I bend with burdening years, Dull of eye, and dull of ears; That this poll Whitens like a flax-wigged doll. J T is a fault, you think ; but wait ! Something marches, men call Fate; If you, boy! succeed in keeping Safe from sweep of Old Time s reaping, You II be the bent-back one that hobbles Over the cobbles Wondering why, all young at heart, With the old you re pushed apart. TO JACOB A. RIIS ON HIS SILVER WEDDING WERE true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing, Straight to your heart to-day, a silver ringing From those you J ve blest, the heavy hearts and sore ; Hark the sweet sound from here to Elsinore! MUSIC AND FRIENDSHIP THRICE is sweet music sweet when every word And lovely tone by kindred hearts are heard; So when I hear true music, Heaven send, To share that heavenly joy, one dear, dear friend! FRIENDSHIP TO FROM the happy first time That we met and wondered, I from thee and thou from me Ne er in soul were sundered. IMPROMPTUS 347 No regret, no blaming; Absence has not shaken : Far apart, still close in heart; Undoubting, unforsaken. As the circle narrows We draw near and nearer; So, old friend! as comes the end Thou art dearer, dearer. TO E. c. s. ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY His life was generous as his life was long Filled to the brim with friendship and with song. "TELL ME GOOD-BY" DARK Southern girl! the dream-like day is past, The harbor light burns red against the sky; In the high blue, star follows star full fast; The ship that takes me northward loometh nigh; "Tell me good-by!" Good-by to the red rose that is your mouth, The tender violets that are your sigh ; The sweetness that you are that is my South ; Ah, not too soon, Enchantress, do I fly! "Tellmegood-by." "Tell me good-by," but not too sweetly tell Lest all too hard the going, lest I cry "Never, no never!" tho the parting bell Ring madly in the night; not then could I Tell you good-by. 348 IN THE HIGHTS FAREWELL TO CHARLESTON ENCHANTED city, O farewell, farewell! If farewell it can be When here, twixt the dark pines and sunrise sea, Our hearts remain, While fare our bodies to the North again ! Here stay our hearts amid these mansions stately, These oaks, forever green, that guard sedately The living and the dead Thrilled through with song that hath interpreted The beauty and the gladness of the day. O, yes, our hearts remain; they must forever stay Midst happy gardens, unforgettable, And where St. Michael s chimes The fragrant hours exquisitely tell, Making the world one loveliness, like a true poet s rhymes. THESE are the sounds that I heard at the home in " The Pines": The frightened cry of the yellowthroat hid in the trees; The chipmunk s rustling tread on the autumn leaves That fringe with brown the green of the wave and the wood; The purr of the quick canoe where it curves the wave And the liquid push of the oar; the voice of the wind Now far, now near, as it sighs through the swaying boughs Through the boughs that sway with a slow and wave- like motion Like growths of the sea that swing in the moving waters; The voice of the wind I heard, now near, now far; Voice of the grieving world that murmurs and calls And wakes in the spirit of man an answering cry. IMPROMPTUS 349 NOT wreaths alone, for him who wins the fight Twixt public Wrong and Right ; The heavy burden of the people s cares The civic conqueror bears. So to the chief, on this victorious night, Pledge hands and hearts and heaven-climbing prayers. FOR THE CITY CLUB IN Love of City here we take our stand : Love of the City is no narrow love; Who loves it not he cannot love his land With love that shall protect, exalt, endure. Here are our homes, our hearts ; great God above ! The City shall be noble, shall be pure. . TO C. H. RUSSELL WHOSE FATHER WAS ONE OF LINCOLN S HELPERS I GIVE this token to the son of him That was a type of those brave, prescient souls Who when dire trouble fell upon the land From the beginning saw the fateful end, Bending strong backs to the tremendous strain. Higher than knighthood s honor lives your line For that the mighty Lincoln hurriedly called To your true sire, in a perilous hour, And got true answer succor swift, complete. On such as he the patient President, The tender elder brother of us all, The sad, wise leader leaned, and not in vain. Therefore the nation lives therefore shall live, Inheriting the spirit of great days. 350 IN THE RIGHTS GIVE thy day to Duty! To that high thought be given Thine every hour. So shall the bending heaven, As from the root the flower, Bring to thy glad soul Beauty. TWO OPTIMISTS (A LETTER TO JOSEPH JEFFERSON, ACKNOWLEDGING A COPY OF HELEN KELLER S ESSAY ON "OPTIMISM") To send fit thanks, I would I had the art, For this small book that holds a mighty heart, Enshrining, as it does, brave Helen s creed. In thought and word; in many a lovely deed; In facing what would crush a lesser soul, Making of barriers helps to reach the goal; In sympathy with all; in human kindness To the blind of heart (dear girl! not this her blindness!), As well as to her brethren of the dark And silent world, who through her see and hark; In bringing out of darkness a great light, Which burns and beacons high in all men s sight, That exquisite spirit is true optimist ! Yet there are other names in the bright list : If faith in man and woman that still lasts, Tho chilled by seventy winters bitter blasts; If seeing, as you see, the good in evil, And even something Christian in the devil; If power to take misfortune as a friend And to be cheerful to the darkening end; Not to be spoiled by praise, nor deeply stung By the detractor s sharp and envious tongue; THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 351 If living in fairy-land as really now As when heaven s dew was fresh on childhood s brow; If seeing, in fine, this world as through a prism Of lovely colors be true optimism, Then Jefferson is true optimist no less, And Heaven sent both this troubled world to bless. THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON SOME element from nature seems withdrawn, The world we lived in being of his spirit wrought - His brightness, sweetness, tender gayety, His childlike, wistful, and half-humorous faith That turned this harsh earth into fairy-land. He made our world, and now our world is changed. The sunniest nature his that ever breathed; Most lovable of all the sons of men ; Who built his joy on making others happy; Like Jesus, lover of the hills and shores, And like him to the beasts and flowers kin, And with a brother s love for all mankind, But chiefly for the loving tho the lost. In his own art, ineffable, serene, And mystical (not less to nature true And to the heart of man), his was the power To shed a light of love on human waifs And folk of simple soul. Where er he went, Sweet childhood followed and all childlike hearts. His very presence made a holiday Affectionate laughter and quick, unsad tears. Now, he being gone, the sun shines not so bright And every shadow darkens. 352 IN THE HIGHTS Kind Heaven forbid Our lives should lack forever what he gave; Prove mirage-haunted, every good unreal! Let the brave cheer of life we had through him Return, reflected from his joyous soul That cannot all be lost, where er it hides, Hides, but is quenched not, haply smiling still Near where his well-loved Shakespeare smiling sits, Whose birthday for his own new birth he took Into the unseen world, to him not far But radiant with the same mysterious light That filled his noontime with the twilight dream. And it was Easter, too the golden day Of resurrection, and man s dauntless hope. Into the unseen he past, willing and glad, And humbly proud of a great nation s love; In honored age, with heart untouched by years Save to grow sweeter, and more dear, more dear Into that world whereon, so oft, he mused; Where he forgets not this, nor shall we him That magic smile, that most pathetic voice, That starry glance, that rare and faithful soul. From dream to dream he past on Shakespeare s day So dedicate his mind to pleasant thought, So deep his fealty to that supreme shade; He being, like him of Avon, a fairy child, High-born of miracle and mystery, Of wonder, and of wisdom, and of mirth. SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING 353 "SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING?" I UNGENEROUS ! Shall we not praise the living as the dead? And I, who lately sang a beautiful spirit fled, Shall I not praise a living spirit we know, Dear heart! we know full well, And long have known, in utmost joy and woe; In our own sorrows, and delights; Her days of brightness and lone- weeping nights! If she should die, alas the day! how swift this verse would tell Our anguish, our large loss, irreparable, In a wild passion of praise For her dear virtues, her sweet friendship s ways, That many know; but only a sacred few Know, as to the evening hour is known the dew, As the still dawn knows the great, melting stars, As night is intimate to those who love, As sorrow s voice is known to the mourning dove, As memoried twilight holds the sunset s crimson bars. ii Shall we not praise the loveliness God gave her, and the true heart that cannot help but bless? For she is not of those Who virtues wear like graceful draperies, But breathes them as her life. Where er she goes Go pleasure and pure thoughts, and baseness dies. A holy ministry her life is, even without intent; For, tho she worships duty, 354 IN THE HIGHTS Such elements in her are exquisitely blent She cannot but be kind; A spiritual radiance in her beauty Makes itself inly felt, even by the blind. Ah, thou and I, dear soul ! we know How the rich courtesy that touched full many a heart Is no mere learnt and gracious art; For when, to those she loved, keen trouble came, How leaped her spirit, like a flame; How quick, sure, self-forgetting, beyond thought, The angelic succor that brave spirit brought ! in How may I fitly name them all The graces, gentlenesses, benedicities, That in a white processional Move before these musing eyes; Nor would I shame That proud humility which is the crown and chief Of all the virtues that make up her golden sheaf; Tho should I name Each separate goodness, clearly, that is her very own, To her calm eyes, alone, The authentic picture would be never known The portrait of another it would seem; And should one say, " This, this indeed is you ! " " No," she would cry, " t is but a poet s dream, And, save as a dream, it cannot all be true ! " IV This, then, the dream: Large, innocent eyes, Lit with life s romance and surprise, And with a child s strange wisdom wise. SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING 355 A child in nature, eager, gay, And, yet, in all a woman s way Wifely and motherly her day. Curious, but constant; slow to wrath, Yet nobly scornful; pride she hath That sheds a splendor on her path. She breathes a heaven-born sympathy; For her there is no low nor high; Goodness is honor in her eye: So, in the throng, each separate one Deems her glad welcome his alone, As if some special grace were shown. The great world, seeing her afar, Claims her, and names her for a star; But, among nearer watchers, are Some who a sacred tale could tell How those bright beams, ineffable, On one great hero-spirit fell. Shall we not praise the living? Too soon the living pass Like images on the unremembering glass, Scarce even a breath s length ! shall we not thanksgiv ing Upraise, or e er the everlasting sleep Hath dulled the ear? that slumber deep Whereof we know so little, however we may hope Mortals who see a closing door, and never see it ope. 356 IN THE HIGHTS HYMN WRITTEN FOR THE SERVICE IN MEMORY OF DR. J. L. M. CURRY, HELD BY THE SOUTHERN EDUCATION CONFER ENCE, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, APRIL 26, 1903 GOD of the strong, God of the weak, Lord of all lands, and our own land; Light of all souls, from Thee we seek Light from Thy light, strength from Thy hand. In suffering Thou hast made us one, In mighty burdens one are we; Teach us that lowliest duty done Is highest service unto Thee. Teach us, Great Teacher of mankind, The sacrifice that brings Thy balm; The love, the work that bless and bind; Teach us Thy majesty, Thy calm. Teach Thou, and we shall know, indeed, The truth divine that maketh free; And knowing, we may sow the seed That blossoms through eternity ; May sow in every living heart That to the waiting day doth ope. Not ours, O God! the craven part, To shut one human soul from hope. Now, in the memory of Thy Saint, To whom Thy little ones were dear, Help us to toil and not to faint, Till earth grows dark and heaven comes near. JOHN WESLEY 357 JOHN WESLEY WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE TWO-HUN DREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF JOHN WESLEY, AT WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY, MIDDLETOWN, CONNECTICUT, JUNE, 1903 IN those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold The very soul that over England flamed! Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill; Convicting men of sin; making faith live; And, this the mightiest miracle of all, Creating God again in human hearts. What courage of the flesh and of the spirit! How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve! What wisdom his to know the boundless might Of banded effort in a world like ours ! How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm ! A silent figure when men idly raged In murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm, Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent, When spiritual lightnings struck men down And brought, by violence, the sense of sin, And violently oped the gates of peace. O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night, In church and abbey whose most ancient walls Not for a thousand years such accents knew ! On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea; Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields; Mid clamor, vile attack, or deep-awed hush, Wherein celestial visitants drew near And secret ministered to troubled souls ! 35$ IN THE HIGHTS Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice, Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still Chief prophet-voice through nigh a century s span! Now silvery as Zion s dove that mourns, Now quelling as the Archangel s judgment-trump, And ever. with a sound like that of old Which, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes, Or, round about storied Jerusalem, Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spake The words of life. 4 Let not that image fade Ever, O God! from out the minds of men, Of him Thy messenger and stainless priest, In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time, Early and late, o er land and sea, on-driven; In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme Driven on forever, back and forth the world, By that divine, omnipotent desire, The hunger and the passion for men s souls! Ah, how he loved Christ s poor! No narrow thought Dishumaned any soul from his emprize; But his the prayer sincere that Heaven might send Him chiefly to the humble; he would be, Even as the Galilean, dedicate Unto the ministry of lowliness: That boon did Heaven mercifully grant; And gladly was he heard; and rich the fruit; While still the harvest ripens round the earth; And many own the name once given in scorn; And all revere the holy life he led, Praise what he did for England, and the world, And call that greatness which was once reproach. Would we were worthy for his praise. JOHN WESLEY 359 Dear God! Thy servant never knew one selfish hour! How are we shamed, who look upon a world Ages afar from that true kingdom preached Millenniums ago in Palestine ! Send us, again, O Spirit of all Truth ! High messengers of dauntless faith and power Like him whose memory this day we praise, We cherish and we praise with burning hearts. Let kindle, as before, from his bright torch, Myriads of messengers aflame with Thee To darkest places bearing light divine ! As did one soul, whom here I fain would sing, For here in youth his gentle spirit took New fire from Wesley s glow. How oft have I, A little child, barkened my father s voice Preaching the Word in country homes remote, Or wayside schools, where only two or three Were gathered. Lo, again that voice I hear, Like Wesley s, raised in those sweet, fervent hymns Made sacred by how many saints of God Who breathed their souls out on the well-loved tones. Again I see those circling, eager faces; I hear once more the solemn-urging words That tell the things of God in simple phrase; Again the deep-voiced, reverent prayer ascends, Bringing to the still summer afternoon A sense of the eternal. As he preached He lived; unselfish, famelessly heroic. For even in mid-career, with life still full, His was the glorious privilege and choice 360 IN THE HIGHTS Deliberately to give that life away For country and for comrades; for he knew No rule but duty, no reward but Christ. m Increase thy prophets, Lord! give strength to smite Shame to the heart of luxury and sloth ! Give them the yearning after human souls That burned in Wesley s breast! Through them, great God! Teach poverty it may be rich in Thee; Teach riches the true wealth of Thine own spirit. To our loved land, Celestial Purity! Bring back the meaning of those ancient words, Not lost but soiled, and darkly disesteemed, The ever sacred names of husband, wife, And the great name of Love, whereon is built The temple of human happiness and hope ! Baptize with holy wrath thy prophets, Lord! By them purge from us this corruption foul That seizes on our civic governments, Crowns the corrupter in the sight of men, And makes him maker of laws, and honor s source! . Help us, in memory of the sainted dead, Help us, O Heaven ! to frame a nobler state, In nobler lives rededicate to Thee : Symbol and part of the large brotherhood Of man and nations; one in one great love, True love of God, which is the love of man, In sacrifice and mutual service shown. Let kindle, as before, O Heavenly Light ! New messengers of righteousness, and hope, And courage, for our day! So shall the world That ever, surely, climbs to Thy desire Grow swifter toward Thy purpose and intent. A TEMPLE OF ART 361 A TEMPLE OF ART WRITTEN FOR THE OPENING OF THE ALBRIGHT ART GALLERY, BUFFALO, MAY 31, 1905 I SLOWLY to the day the rose, The moon-flower suddenly to the night, Their mysteries of light In innocence unclose. In this garden of delight, This pillared temple, pure and white, We plant the seed of art, With mystic power To bring, or sudden or slow, the perfect flower, That cheers and comforts the sad human heart; That brings to man high thought From starry regions caught, And sweet, unconscious nobleness of deed; So he may never lose his childhood s joyful creed, While years and sorrows to sorrows and years succeed. HI Tho thick the cloud that hides the unseen life Before we were and after we shall be, Here in this fragment of eternity; And heavy is the burden and the strife The universe, we know, in beauty had its birth; The day in beauty dawns, in beauty dies, With intense color of the sea and skies; And life, for all its rapine, with beauty floods the earth. Lovely the birds, and their true song, Amid the murmurous leaves, the summer long. 362 IN THE HIGHTS Whate er the baffling power Sent anger and earthquake and a thousand ills, It made the violet flower, And the wide world with breathless beauty thrills. IV Who built the world made man With power to build and plan, A soul all loveliness to love, Blossom below and lucent blue above, And new unending beauty to contrive. He, the creature, may not make Beautiful beings all alive Irised moth nor mottled snake, The lily s splendor, The light of glances infinitely tender, Nor the day s dying glow nor flush of morn, And yet his handiwork the angels shall not scorn, When he hath wrought in truth and by Heaven s law, In lowliness and awe. Bravely shall he labor, while from his pure hands Spring fresh wonders, spread new lands; Son of God, no longer child of fate, Like God he shall create. When, weary ages hence, this wrong world is set right; When brotherhood is real And all that justice can for man is done; When the fair, fleeing, anguished-for ideal Turns actual at last; and neath the sun Man hath no human foe; And even the brazen sky, and storms that blow, And all the elements have friendlier proved, A TEMPLE OF ART 363 By human wit to human uses moved Ah, still shall art endure, And beauty s light and lure, To keep man noble, and make life delight, Tho shadows backward fall from the engulfing night. VI In a world of little aims, Sordid hopes and futile fames, Spirit of Beauty! high thy place In the fashioning of the race. In this temple, built to thee, We thy worshipers would be, Lifting up, all undefiled, Hearts as lowly as a child; Humble to be taught and led And on celestial manna fed; So to take into our lives Something that from Heaven derives. THE FIRE DIVINE THE FIRE DIVINE THE FIRE DIVINE HE who hath the sacred fire Hidden in his heart of hearts, It shall burn him clean and pure, Make him conquer, make endure. He to all things may aspire, King of days, and souls, and arts. Failure, fright, and dumb dismay Are but wings upon his way. Imagination and desire Are his slaves and implements. Faiths and foul calamities, And the eternal ironies, Are but voices in his choir. Musician of decreed events Hungers, happinesses, hates, Friendships lost, all adverse fates, All passions and all elements, Are but golden instruments In his glorious symphonies. Subject to his firm decrees Are the heavens, are the seas; But in utter humbleness Reigns he, not to ban, but bless Cleansed, and conquering, and benign Bearer of the fire divine. 368 THE FIRE DIVINE THE INVISIBLE (AT A LECTURE) SUCH pictures of the heavens were never seen. We stood at the steep edge of the "abyss And looked out on the making of the suns. The skies were powdered with the white of stars And the pale ghosts of systems yet to be; While here and there a nebulous spiral told, Against the dark, the story of the orbs From the impalpable condensing slow Through ages infinite. Each mighty shape Seemed as the shape of speed a whirling wheel Stupendously revolving, And yet no eye of man may see it stir. (That moveless motion brings to the human brain A hint of the large measurements of time Eternity made present.) Such new sense Of magnitudes that make our world an atom Might crush the soul, did not this saving thought Leap to the mind and lift it to clear hights: " T is but the unseen that grows not old nor dies, Suffers not change, nor waning, nor decay. This that we see this casual glimpse within The seething pit of space; these million stars And worlds in making, these are naught but matter; These all are but the dust upon our feet, And we who gaze forth fearless on the sight Find not one equal, facing from the vast Our sentient selves. Not one, sole, lonely star In all the infinite glitter and deep light Can make one conscious movement; all are slaves THE OLD FAITH 369 To law material, immutable That Power immense, mysterious, intense, Unseen as our own souls, but which must be Like them the home of thought, with will and might To stamp on mindless matter the soul s will. Yea, in these souls of ours triumphant dwells Some segment of the large creative Power A thing beyond the things of sight and sense; A strength to think, a force to conquer force. One are we with the ever-living One." DESTINY (AFTER READING A WORK ON ASTRONOMY) I SEE it all ; my soul the dregs hath drunk Of man s last, helpless, hopeless destiny; Born of the primal ooze, where slow light sunk, And climbing to the secrets of the sky; Through countless million years the spiral mounts Till nature, a companionable slave, Bows to man s bidding; lo, then, the deep founts Run gradual dry, earth turns its own chill grave: The insatiate desert marches on the sown, The sea exhales, the very air is gone, And, gasping in the silent void, the race Dies with the planet. But not this the .doom Of man s outlooking soul ; that hath no tomb, Being quenchless as the law and lord of space. THE OLD FAITH ON that old faith I will take hold once more Now that the long waves bear me to the shore And life s brief voyage is o er; 370 THE FIRE DIVINE Near is the looked-for land One wild leap on the strand And the dear souls I loved of old I shall again behold, And arms that held me once shall hold again. In blinding ways of men Long did I mourning doubt, Saying: "Into the universe have they gone out And shall be lost In the wide waves of unseen, infinite force; For nature heeds not all the bitter cost, But rushes on its course Unto the far, determined goal, Without self-conscious knowledge, or remorse." But now the time is come, the test draws near, And sudden my soul is innocent of fear. O ye beloved! I come! I cry With the old passion ye shall not deny! I know you, as I knew When life was in its dew; Ah, naught of me has suffered inward change, Nor can be change essential even in you, However far the freer spirit s range. Soul shall find soul; there is no distance That bars love s brave insistence, And nothing truly dies In all the infinite realm of woe and weal; Throughout creation s bound thrill answers thrill And love to love replies. THE DOUBTER S SOLILOQUY A WHITE lie, even as the black, I learned to hate; Being taught clear truth by honest parentage, THE DOUBTER S SOLILOQUY 371 And, haply, somewhat morbid in this matter. T would come, I fear, not easy to deceive Even death-beds, for their good, that men, indeed, Might, as they say, "die happy." (Not that I Have never eased, by little lies that helped, Being gray with years, to smooth a neighbor s path, Or even mine own.) And when I ve read brave tales Wherein the hero like a hero lied, And saved the other hero from some shame, Or loss, or ill that seemed itself a lie, Such tragi-comedies, I ve thought, mayhap Argued a sophist mind in them who wrote. Once reading such a pretty history The thought came on me with a sickening stroke : "But what of all the martyrs who died singing, Smiling and singing in the face of pain, Of tortured, useless death ; seeing just beyond The flame, the scorch, the shudder sudden joy; Joy so intense it threw a splendor back Into the midst of unfelt agonies! And what of those, the unknown martyrdoms, The myriads of faithful, humble souls Who horribly suffered through long, faithful lives, Seeing the peace of God beyond the strife! What of all these if there be no awakening? If He permitted the Colossal Lie As opiate for the agony of life Who were the sophist then?" But a voice spake And said: "Your argument requires a God All powerful, all present, and all wise, Who could prevent false notions of Himself And His designs to fasten on men s minds. If such a God exists, this is most sure 37 2 THE FIRE DIVINE He wills not to make plain His character And mode of government; witness through time A thousand gods, religions without end, Each in some souls, all reverent and sincere, Supreme, unquestioned; gods that grimly held Races and ages round about their thrones. " Your very doubt creates a mighty Power, Invisible, yet having human traits, And Him you judge with your sole, finite mind You doubt, you dread, you trouble your sad soul. Were it not best to follow those twin stars Which light each mortal path: the double stars Of Love and Duty ? If by these you walk (This has been proved), a solace shall arrive A noble solace, a majestic joy. Whatever of life is worthy of the soul Then shall be yours. Disdain, disdain all else!" LAW TRUE love to liberty is never foe, And he who truly loves is truly free : Thus thought I when I heard the pulsing flow Of mighty music rushing gloriously Along the channels of unchanging law; Thus thought I when I gazed upon the skies And there the circling universe I saw Moving obedient in glad harmonies About a central, inescapable power: No sun, nor planet, nor wild comet s course But owns that sway in every separate hour Of all its centuries; to that one force Freely it yields, as hearts that never rove, But pour their being in a single love. IDENTITY 373 IDENTITY AND can it be? The heart that in the earth s far dawn knew God; The thought that seized the circling of the stars; The soul of fire that on that hill of Athens Builded immortal beauty; the brain enorm That peopled for all men and for all time A world Shakespearian; and can it be? The mind imperial named Beethoven, Majestically chanting harmonies That hold the motions of the rhythmic worlds, And to far doomsday stir all living hearts; And he the framer of earth s mightiest dome, Painter sublime and poet marvelous, Who carved the likeness of his soul in stone, And in cold marble the hot heart of man Imprisoned eternally ; and can it be ? These, these and all the potencies of time Which throbbed in human form; and can it be That the intensive fire which made them men, Not trees, nor creeping beasts, nor stones, nor stars, And gave identity to every soul Making it individual and alone Among the myriads; and can it be That, when the mortal framework failed, this fire, Which flamed in separate and lonely life, These souls, slipt out of being and were lost, Eternally extinguished and cast out: Only to some obscure electric wave Giving new force, to some stray flower new grace, Unto some lover s vow more ardency; Making some island sunset more intense, Passing from fiery thought to chemic heat 374 THE FIRE DIVINE But all the universe empty of that one high And exquisite accomplishment and power, Forever and forever can it be ? "SPARE ME MY DREAMS" i RELENTLESS Time, that gives both harsh and kind, Brave let me be To take thy various gifts with equal mind, And proud humility; But, even by day, while the full sunlight streams, Give me my dreams! Whatever, Time, thou takest from my heart, What from my life, From what dear thing thou yet may st make me part Plunge not too deep the knife; As dies the day, and the long twilight gleams, Spare me my dreams! HYMN (THANKSGIVING FOR SAINTS AND PROPHETS) To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise! Who, from of old to our own days Through souls of saints and prophets, Lord, Hast sent Thy light, Thy love, Thy word. We thank Thee for each mighty one Through whom Thy living light hath shone; And for each humble soul and sweet That lights to heaven our wandering feet. THE VALLEY OF LIFE 375 We thank Thee for the love divine Made real in every saint of Thine; That boundless love itself that gives In service to each soul that lives. We thank Thee for the word of might The Spirit spake in darkest night; Spake through the trumpet voices loud Of prophets at Thy throne who bowed. Eternal Soul, our souls keep pure, That like Thy saints we may endure; Forever through Thy servants, Lord, Send Thou Thy light, Thy love, Thy word. THE VALLEY OF LIFE WHEN I was a child joyfully I ran, hand claspt in hand, now with my mother, now with my father, or with younger, blithe companions, now in sunlight, now in shadow and dread, through the strange new Valley of Life. Sometimes on the high-road, then over the fields and meadows, or through the solemn forests; sometimes along the happy brook-side, listening to its music or the clamor of the falls, as the pleasant waters hurried or grew still, in the winding way down the Valley of Life. And as we moved along, hand claspt in hand, sometimes the hand-clasp was broken, and I, a happy child, ran swiftly aside from the path to gather flower or fruit or get sight of a singing bird; or to lean down and pluck a pearly stone from under the lapping waves; or climbed a tree and swayed, shouting, on its waving boughs then returning to the clasp of loving hands, and so passing on and on down the opening Valley of Life. THE FIRE DIVINE In the bright morning I walked wondering; wondering I walked through the still twilight and many-colored sunset; watching the great stars gather, and lost in the mystery of worlds beyond number, and spaces beyond thought, till, side by side, we lay down to sleep under the stars in the Valley of Life and of Dreams. Then there came a time when the hands that held me, the loving hands that guided my steps and drew me gently on, turned cold, and slipt from my grasp; I waited, but they came not back, and slowly and alone I plodded on down the Valley of Life and of Death. "Where went they?" I asked my heart and the whispering waters and the sighing trees. " Where went my loving and well-beloved guides? Did they climb the hills and tarry; did they, tired, lie down to sleep and for get me forever; leaving me to journey on without their dear care down the long Valley of Life?" I could not know, for I heard no answer except my own heart s beating. But other comrades came, one dearer than all, and as time went on I felt the little hands of my own children clasping mine while, once more happy and elate, with them I traveled down the miraculous Val ley of Life. But, as on we wander, hearing their bright voices, and seeing their joy upon the way, their happy chasings here and there, their eager run to hold again our hands, how soon, I think, shall I feel the slipping away of the clasping fingers while I fall asleep by the wayside, or climb the cloud-enveloped hills, and leave those I love to journey on down the lonely Valley of Life? And I say : " Surely the day and the hour hasten ; grief will be theirs for a season ; then will they, as did I, with brave hearts journey on the appointed way." But where then shall my spirit rest ? Will it sink unconscious into TO ONE IMPATIENT OF FORM IN ART 377 endless night? or shall I, in some new dawn, and by some unimagined miracle not less than that which brought me here, wander, with those that led me once, and those I led, hand claspt in hand, as of old, by the murmuring waters and under the singing trees of the ever-wonderful, the never-ending Valley of Life ? TO ONE IMPATIENT OF FORM IN ART i CHIDE not the poet that he strives for beauty, If still forthright he chants the thing he would - If still he knows, nor can escape, the dire Necessity and burden of straight speech ; Not his the fault should music haunt the stroke, When to the marrow cleaves the lyric knife. Who poured the violent ocean, and who called Earthquake and tempest and the crash of doom, He spread the sea all beautiful at dawn, And curved the bright bow gainst the black, spent storm; He framed these late and lovely violets That under autumn leaves surprise the heart. Blame not the seeker of beauty if his soul Seeks it, in reverent and determined quest, And in the sacred love of loveliness Which God, the all-giver, gave and satisfies; Fearing lest he match not life s poignant breath And the keen beauty of the blossoming day. 378 THE FIRE DIVINE No poet he who knows not the great joy That pulses in the flow and rush of rhythm, Rhythm which is the seed and life of life, And of all art the root, and branch, and bloom, Knows not the strength that comes when vibrant thought Beats gainst the bounds of fixed time and space; For law unto the master is pure freedom, The prison-house a garden of delight. So doth the blown breath from the bugle s walls Issue in most triumphant melody; So doth the impassioned poet s perfect verse, Confined in law eternal, mate the stars. TO THE POET LET not thy listening spirit be abashed By the majestic ranks of ancient bards Or all the clarion singers of thy day : For in thy true and individual song Thou art a voice of nature; as the wind, And cries of moving waters, and all shows And speaking symbols of the universe Are but the glorious sound and utterance Of the mysterious power that spake the Word The immense first word that filled with splendid light And vibrant potency the house of life; Whose candles are a million, million stars, Whose windows look on gulfs unthinkable That bound our world. Think not on thine own self, COMPENSATION 379 But on the enormous currents silently That flood the unseen channels of still force, Or with the sound of earthquake and the shout Of circling storms complete an unknown doom. Thine is the fate and function mystical, In forms of lyric and eternal art, Clearly to utter and re-syllable The primal Word: So is thy verse of kin To the sea-shell, the lily, and the leaf. It hath a natural right and majesty, Being of the infinite, all-evolving power True jet and symbol; kin to the morning star That in the sky of dawn sings with its mates. COMPENSATION THE Angel of Life stood forth on the threshold of Birth And converse held with a spirit about to be born; And the Angel announced to the Soul awaiting its world: Choose thou ! for now thou must choose, and never here after. And if thou to beauty shalt bow, to Beauty and Art, And if to thy spirit all exquisite things be revealed, If the fate of the poet be thine, if a god thou wouldst be, If thou in thy soul wouldst joyfully seize and encompass The glories and grandeurs of earth, the sweetness supreme, The vision angelic, forbidden to eyes unanointed, The melodies silent to all save the holy of spirit, The signs and the secrets, the splendors, the exaltations, If these thou shalt choose, if these thou wouldst know and impart, Even so but forget not the price of the infinite wisdom, For the price of the passion of joy is the passion of sorrow, And the cost of thy heaven is the burning and anguish of hell. 380 THE FIRE DIVINE THE POET S SECRET THE secret he has learned it And only, only he : Heaven in his heart hath burned it; To him alone t is free, And them from him who learned it In wise simplicity. From thousand suns it flashes, It leaps in flower and flame; The spring, from winter s ashes, Cries out its silent name The secret of the ages That, to the poet came. Unknown to all the sages, However wise they be, Through his quick veins it rages And soul of ecstasy; It lightnings from his pages, In all his songs t is sung : The secret of the ages To be forever young. "THE DAY BEGAN AS OTHER DAYS BEGIN THE day began as other days begin, The round of work, the implacable city s din; The New World s Babel, louder with each hour. Then in a by-way, a still, secret bower, A temple given to silence and to books; And in its heart a sacred nook of nooks. There, in the silence, from a priceless store Of written tomes, a guardian of their lore A manuscript uplifted to my view, With reverent, loving hands and then withdrew. A POET S QUESTION 381 Opening the book my gaze fell on that line Wherein the marvelous poet, the divine Singer of Endymion, his deathless song Began, and so beginning made immortal. O dead, undying bard ! now all the wrong Fate did thee rose; through Memory s draped portal Trooped, in wan figures, all thy tragic story But mightier still the wonder and the glory Of that white page whereon thy soul was poured. Then with thy spirit my spirit likewise soared; Something immortal entered in this breast Miraculously; and like one confessed And throughly shriven, back to the world I turned While a new heart within me flamed and burned. And yet that morn, when grew the glare and din, The day began, as other days begin. A POET S QUESTION WHAT, then, shall make these songs of mine more real; More tuneful, piercing, bright miraculous, As art should be? Shall some high, fortunate chant, Some song to come, flood backward on them all, Over every word in all the singing flock, A light, a meaning; a power to seize, to thrill; A swift beatitude and haunting beauty; Shall make of them a trouble to the base, Scourge to the false, sun to the darkened soul, Help to the fainting, succor to the bruised, A judgment to the heeding and unheeding? Or shall a flame leap from the singer s flight, Making them luminous in sudden dawn Bright in the chrism of Death. 382 THE FIRE DIVINE PRELUDE FOR "A BOOK OF MUSIC " WITHOUT intent, I find a book I ve writ And music is the pleasant theme of it; For tho I can no music make, I trust Here s proof I love it. Tho no reasoning fine Should any ask to show this art divine, Yet have I known even poets who refuse To name pure music as an equal muse. If music pleased them, t was not deeply felt, And in its charms they deemed it shame to melt; For that, they held, it is an art where might Even children give its votaries delight, And therefore lacking in the things of mind. But t is not argued well. There is a kind Of music that a little child can give, Echoing great masters; but the masters live Not in such echo elfish, immature; T is but a part of them. Ah, be ye sure Tho lovely, not the loveliest; that must wait For him who noble moods can recreate With solemn, subtile, and deep-thoughted art That wins the mind or e er it takes the heart. For that a child may gracious music make Is but a sign that music doth partake Of something deep, primeval, that began When God dreamed of Himself, and fashioned man. T is near the source of being; it repeats The vibrancy that runs in rhythmic beats Through all the shaken universe; and tho Its language shall take not the ebb and flow Of speech articulate, it is that tone PRELUDE FOR "A BOOK OF MUSIC " 383 Cleaves closer to life s core; the thing alone Well-nigh it is, not thought about the thing; No pictured flight across a painted sky The bird itself, the beating of its wing; The pang that is a cry; Not human language, but pure ecstasy. In this my BOOK OF Music which hath come As does a lover s litany by some Miraculous chance, with added song to song, I trust I have my Lady done no wrong, My Lady of Melody I worshipt long. Blameless the artist praises the sweet rose If in his art he aim not to compose An image, all inanimate, that seeks To copy shrewdly those inviolate cheeks Or the rich, natural odor imitate; But shows, as best he can, its grace and state, The love that in him burns for this fair flower, And all his joy therein, for one sweet hour. Nor shall the poet subtly strive to phrase For any heart save his what music says; For, as before the autumn skies and woods, A meaning gleams through our own human moods : Yet is the meaning real; and many a wound Wherewith our spirits are beaten to the ground Heals neath the sanctity of noble sound. Ah, not to match the music of the wires Or trembling breath, the instruments and choirs, But to tell truly how that moves the soul In the impassionate and rhythmic word, By poesy s proper art which must be heard 384 THE FIRE DIVINE Even as music is! Not to forget The viol and the harp, the clarinet, The booming organ; too, the intertwined Voices wherewith the sounding, rich clavier, Struck by the master s hand, enchants the ear If so may be to catch a fleeting strain And in new art imprison it again ! Then let him list to music who would rhyme; For every art, tho separate, may learn, From the great souls in all, how to make burn Brighter the light of beauty through all time. And scorn not thou to read of music s power Over one soul that in great humbleness His memory brings of many a happy hour, Hoping these echoed tones some wounded heart may bless. MUSIC AT TWILIGHT O, GIVE me music in the twilight hour! Then, skilled musician! thou of the magic power, Summon the souls of masters long since gone Who through thine art live on! As the day dies I would once more respire The passion of that spirit whose keen fire Flashes and flames in yearning and unrest And never-ending quest. Or listen to the quick, electric tones, Or moods of majesty, of him who owns The secret of the thrill that shakes the earth And moves the stars in mirth MUSIC AT TWILIGHT 385 And I would walk the shore of sound with him Whose voice was as the voice of cherubim : Musician most authentic and sublime Of all the sons of time. Bring their deep joys, the breath of solitudes, Dear dreams and longings, and high, hero moods; Ay, bring me their melodious despairs To die in twilight airs. For, given a rhythmic voice, re-uttered so, Sorrow itself is lost in the large flow Of nature; and of life is made such part As doth enrich the heart; And on the tide of music, to my soul Shall enter beauty s solace life be whole, Not broken by chords discordant, but most sweet, In sequent tones complete. ii Great is the true interpreter, for like No other art, two sentient souls must strike The spark of music that in blackness lies Mid silent harmonies, Till, at a cunning touch, the long-lost theme Newly imagined, and new-born in dream, Clothed gloriously in garment of sweet sound Wakes from its darkened swound. So would I ask, Musician ! of thy grace That thou wouldst bless and sanctify the place With august harmonies, well-loved of old; But from thy manifold 386 THE FIRE DIVINE Miraculous memory fail not of thine own Imaginings enraptured of pure tone, That I may nearer draw to music s shrine, And mystery divine. MUSIC IN MOONLIGHT WAS ever music lovelier than to-night? T was Schumann s Song of Moonlight ; o er the vale The new moon lingered near the western hills; The hearth-fire glimmered low; but melting tones Blotted all else from memory and thought, And all the world was music. Wondrous hour! Then sank anew into our tranced hearts One secret and deep lesson of sweet sound The loveliness that from unloveliness Outsprings, flooding the soul with poignant joy, As the harmonious chords to harsh succeed, And the rapt spirit climbs through pain to bliss: Eternal question, answer infinite; As day to night replies ; as light to shade ; As summer to rough winter; death to life Death not a closing, but an opening door; A deepened life, a prophecy fulfilled. Not in the very present comes reply, But in the flow of time. Should the song cease Too soon; ere yet the rooted answer blooms, Lo, what a pang of loss and dissonance! But time with the resolving and intended tone Heals all, and makes all beautiful and right. Even so our mortal music-makers frame Their messages melodious to men; Even so the Eternal His high harmonies Fashions, supreme, of life, and fate, and time. THE VOICE 387 THE UNKNOWN SINGER ONE singer in the oratorio, Her only did I see, nor can forget; Nor knew her name, nor have I seen her more, Nor could I in the chorus find her voice. Her swaying, gracious form, her face alight As with an inner flame of melody These seized me; seemed the white embodiment Of all the angelic voices richly poured In a great rushing and harmonious flood. That human form, all beautiful and bright, Lived the pure, conscious, glorious instrument Wherethrough the master made his message felt Conscious, but with no shallow vanity, A breathing image of a thought in sound, A living statue, symbol of a tone. That which she sang she was; and, unaware, Made music visible not less than heard. THE VOICE RICH is the music of sweet instruments, The separate harp, cornet, oboe, and flute, The deep-souled viola, the cello grave, The many-mooded, singing violin, The infinite, triumphing, ivoried clavier; And when, with art mysterious, some god Thrills into one the lone and various tones, Then is no hiding passion of the heart, No sigh of evening winds, no breath of dawn, No hope or hate of man that is not told. But when a human voice leaps from that surge, *T is as a flower that bursts from th trembling earth; 388 THE FIRE DIVINE Something more wonderful assails the soul, As, with exultant cries, up-curving, swift, The shrill Walkiire clamor against the sky, Or pale Briinhilde moans her bitter fate. WAGNER THIS is the eternal mystery of art : He told the secretest secret of his heart How many mortals, with quick-flaming brow, Whispered, "Lo, this am I and that art thou!" "THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY" (TSCHAIKOWSKY) WHEN the last movement fell, I thought : Ah, me ! Death this indeed; but still the music poured On and still on. O, deathlier it grew, And then, at last, my beating heart stood still Beyond all natural grief the music passing, Beyond all tragedy, or last farewell. Then, on that fatal tide, dismayed I felt This living soul, my own, without one tear, Slowly, irrevocably, and alone, Enter the ultimate silence and the dark. MACDOWELL REJOICE! Rejoice! The New W T orld hath a voice; A voice of tragedy and mirth, Sounding clear through all the earth; A voice of music, tender and sublime, Kin to the master-music of all time. A FANTASY OF CHOPIN 389 Hear ye, and know, While the chords throb with poignant pause and flow, Of the New World the mystic, lyric heart, Breathed in undaunted art: Her pomp of days, her glittering nights; The rich surprise And miracle of iridescent skies; Her lovely lowlands and imperial hights; Her glooms and gladness; Her oceans thundering on a thousand shores; Her wild-wood madness; Her streams adream with memory that deplores The red inhabitants evanished and undone That follow, follow to far lands beyond the setting sun. And echoes one may hear of ancient lores From the Old World s well-loved shores Primal loves, and quenchless hates; Striving lives, and conquering fates; Elves innocently antic Or wild-eyed, frantic; Shadow-heroes, passionate, gigantic Sons and daughters of the prime That moved the mighty bards to noble rhyme. Rejoice! Rejoice! The New World hath new music, and a voice. A FANTASY OF CHOPIN (GABRILOWITSCH) LIGHTNINGS and tremblings and a voice of thunder; But when the winds are down, and spent the showers At the vast mountain s base, the sheer cliffs under, How sweet the summer flowers! 39 THE FIRE DIVINE "HOW STRANGE THE MUSICIAN S MEMORY" How strange the musician s memory, never wrong In symphony, sonata, fugue, or song ! Sees he the score with wide, unseeing eyes, Or is it sound his heart doth memorize ? What is it like? Behold, from out the west, The long light on the wild wave s flying crest. See the swift gleam rush up the leaning strand And die in foam upon the singing sand. "IN A NIGHT OF MIDSUMMER" IN a night of midsummer, on the still eastern shore of the ocean inlet, In our hearts a sense of the inaudible pulsings of the unseen, infinite sea, Suddenly through the clear, cool air, arose the voice of a wonderful tenor; soaring and sobbing in the music of "Otello." I knew that the singer was long dead ; I knew well that it was not his living voice; And yet truly it was as the voice of a living man ; tho* heard as through a veil, still was it human; still was it living; still was it tragic; Still felt I the fire of the spirit of a man ; I was moved by the passion of his art; I perceived the flower and essence of his person; the exquisite expression of his mind and soul; His soul it was that seized my soul, through his voice, which was as the very voice of sorrow; And then I thought : If man, by science and search ing, can build a cunning instrument that takes over and keeps, beyond the term of human existence, the essence and flower of a man s art; JOHN PAUL JONES 391 If he can recreate that most individual attribute, his articulate and musical voice, and thus the very art and passion which that voice conveys, Why may not the Supreme Artificer, when the human body is utterly dissolved and dispersed, recover and keep forever, in some new and delicate structure, the living soul itself? IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS MOUNTAINS in whose vast shadows live great names, On whose firm pillars rest mysterious dawns, And sunsets that redream the apocalypse; A world of billowing green that, veil on veil, Turns a blue mist and melts in lucent skies; A silent world, save for slow waves of wind, Or sudden, hollow clamor of huge rocks Beaten by valleyed waters manifold; Airs that to breathe is life and joyousness; Days dying into music; nights whose stars Shine near, and large, and lustrous; these, O these, These are for memory to life s ending hour. JOHN PAUL JONES i BEHOLD our first great warrior of the sea Who, in our war to make the half world free, His knightly sword in noble anger drew! Born to the Old, he visioned clear the New. H Born to the New and shall we lose our faith And mourn for freedom as a fleeing wraith ? Or heroes swift as he, and valorous, find In bloodless battles of the unfettered mind! 392 THE FIRE DIVINE TO EMMA LAZARUS DEAR bard and prophet, that thy rest is deep Thanks be to God ! Not now on thy heart falls Rumor intolerable. Sleep, O sleep! See not the blood of Israel that crawls, Warm yet, into the noon and night; that cries Even as of old, till all the world stands still At rapine that even to Israel s agonies Seems strange and monstrous, a mad dream of ill. Thou sleepest ! Yea, but as in grief we said : There is a spiritual life unconquerable; So, bard of the ancient people, tho being dead Thou speakest, and thy voice we love full well. Never thy holy memory forsakes us; Thy spirit is the trumpet that awakes us! CARL SCHURZ IN youth he braved a monarch s ire To set the people s poet free; Then gave his life, his fame, his fire To the long praise of liberty. His life, his fame, his all he gave That not on earth should live one slave; True freedom of the soul he sought And in that battle well he fought. He fought, and yet he loved not war, But looked and labored for the day When the loud cannon silent are And holy peace alone hath sway. GEORGE MACDONALD 393 Ah, what a life ! From youth to age Keeping the faith, in noble rage. Ah, what a life! From knightly youth Servant and champion of the truth. Not once, in all his length of days, That falchion flashed for paltry ends; So wise, so pure, his words and ways, Even those he conquered rose his friends. For went no rancor with the blow; The wrong and not the man, his foe. He smote not meanly, not in wrath; That truth might speed he cleaved a path. The lure of place he well could scorn Who knew a mightier joy and fate The passion of the hope forlorn, The luxury of being great, The deep content of souls serene Who gain or lose with equal mien; Defeat his spirit not subdued Nor victory marred his noble mood. GEORGE MACDONALD AH, loving, exquisite, enraptured soul, Who wert to me a father and a friend; Who imaged and brought near, all humanly, The sweetness and the majesty of him Who in Judea melted human hearts, And won the world by loveliness and love; Dear spirit, who to the Infinite Purity Past, without change, and humbly unabashed 394 THE FIRE DIVINE If farewell we must say, it is that thou So far beyond, above, we, alien so From grace like thine, may hardly follow close Thy shining feet in fields of endless light When to the goal of souls reborn we pass. Yet couldst thou not rest happy in that world Thou saw st with eyes anointed, near that Christ Who was to thee a human brother and friend, If we, thy brothers, with thee came not nigh. If ever saint with the Eternal strove, Then wouldst thou, wilt thou, strive and supplicate That not one soul be lost or suffer ill, If so may be, but win to the Infinite Love That was the faith, strength, life of all thy days. Our heaTts are heavy; O, yet give we thanks, As thou didst give when died one dear to thee, Thanks that thou livedst that we knew and loved, Even in the flesh, one who was one with God. JOSEPHINE SHAW LOWELL IT was but yesterday she walked these streets, Making them holier. How many years, With all her widowed love, immeasurably She ministered unto the abused and stricken, And all the oppressed and suffering of mankind; Herself forgetting, but never those in need; Her whole, sweet soul lost in her loving work ; Pondering the endless problem of the poor. In ceaseless labor, swift, unhurriedly, She sped upon her tireless ministries, Climbing the stairs of poverty and wrong, JOSEPHINE SHAW LOWELL 395 Endeavoring the help that shall not hurt, Seeking to build in every human heart A temple of justice that no brother s burden Should heavier prove through human selfishness. In memory I see that brooding face That now seemed dreaming of the heroic past When those most dear to her laid loyal lives On the high altar of freedom; and again That thinking, inward-lighted countenance Drooped, saddened by the pain of humankind, Tho resolute to help where help might be, And with undying faith illuminate. She was our woman of sorrows, whose pure heart Was pierced by many woes; and yet long since Her soul of sympathy entered the peace And calm eternal of the eternal mind ; Inheritor of noble lives, she held, Even to the end, a spirit of cheerfulness, And knowledge keen of the deep joy of being By pain all unsubdued. Sister and saint, Who to life s darkened passageways brought light, Who taught the dignity of human service, Who made the city noble by her life, And sanctified the very stones her feet Prest in their sacred journeys! Most High God! This city of mammon, this wide, seething pit Of avarice and lust, hath known Thy saints, And yet shall know. For faith than sin is mightier, And by this faith we live that in Thy time, In Thine own time, the good shall crush the ill; The brute within the human shall die down; 396 THE FIRE DIVINE And love and justice reign, where hate prevents - That love which in pure hearts reveals Thine own And lights the world to righteousness and truth. "ONE ROSE OF SONG" (MARY PUTNAM JACOBI) ONE rose of song For one sweet deed On her grave I fling. But, O, how can I sing When she takes no heed! My rose of song For a fragrant deed, Tho she takes no heed, Still must I bring. Tho she needs no praise, Tho she hears not my song On her journey long In the new, strange ways O still must I sing, My rose I must fling, Just to ease my heart Of the sorrow and smart. In a far-off land She stretched forth her hand To me and to mine. And now, for a sign, This song I sing And this rose I bring. Tho she take no heed On her journey long, LOST LEADERS 397 Yet a soul shall hear, Some soul shall take heed, And the rose and the deed, They shall sow their seed. JOHN MALONE THIS actor in great Shakespeare s shadow moved; He thought his thoughts, he lived in Shakespeare s age. His were the tenets of that mighty stage : Therefore we mourn; therefore was he beloved. "LOST LEADERS * "Losx leaders" no, they are not lost Like shrunken leaves the wild wind tost. Them only shall we mourn who failed ; When came the fight who faltered, quailed. Raged not through blood and battle grime These heroes of our land and time; The foes they fought, with dauntless deed, Were shameless vice and maddened greed. in Not lost, not lost the noble dead By them our doubting feet are led. Stars of our dark, sun of our day, They guide, they light the climbing way. IV And if, in their celestial flight, The mist hath hid those forms from sight, 398 THE FIRE DIVINE Still, down the stormy path, we hear Their hero-voices ringing clear. Who for their fellows live and die, They the immortals are. O sigh Not for their loss, but rather praise The God that gave them to our days. ON A CERTAIN "AGNOSTIC" AGNOSTIC! Ah, what idle name for him Who knew not the untruths of fables old, Cherished in fear, or arrant ignorance; Who knew not the shrewd structures of keen minds Intent on their own shrewdness; losing quite The inner truth in outward scaffoldings, Cunning appearances, and schemes involved; But who knew well the central verity : That honest thought followed, without dismay, Unto the bitter and accepted end, Is the one way to wisdom in this world; Who knew not creeds, but could not help but follow The feet of him who loved his fellow-men; Who knew that human service is true life; Who knew deep friendship, lived this knowledge out, As few called " friends" have ever dared to live; And who knew well the sacred truth of love. Ah, call him not unknowing, for he knew The truth of truth the gods can know no more. "A WEARY WASTE WITHOUT HER" "A WEARY waste without her?" Ah, but think! You who were blest with the most sweet, most near WHERE SPRING BEGAN 399 Knowledge of that high nature; who could drink At her fresh spirit s fountain, year by year What were the past without her? And her dear Image and memory did they, too, sink Into the abyss? Herself was yours, and here Still lives remembrance; a bright, golden link Twixt this, the visible world, and the unknown Toward which we journey where she now doth live, Close to the Eternal One. Make thou no moan; What else may pass, this twofold gift endures; Give thanks, and mourn not, then. But, O, forgive! How can I chide who mix my tears with yours? THE POET S SLEEP In spite of it all I am going to sleep. Put out the lights. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. EVER when slept the poet his dreams were music, And in sweet song lived the dear dream once more. So when from sleep and dreams again he wakes, Out from the world of symbols passing forth Into that spirit-world where all is real, What memoried music, new and exquisite, Shall strike on ears celestial where he walks Reverent among the immortal melodists! WHERE SPRING BEGAN THE days were cold, and clouded. On a day Before the seasonable warmth and sun The poet died. We bore him to the tomb And, under wreaths and flowers, we laid him down. Then came a burst of sunshine. Bright it poured On the banked blossoms and the leafless trees. There, at the poet s grave, the spring began. 400 THE FIRE DIVINE AVARICE THEY said, "God made him," ah, the clean, great God! Perhaps! Even as He made the loathed beast Whose use is to take offal for his feast; As He made viper and vermin or, at a nod, Made hell, to do some necessary part In His wide-stretched, inscrutable universe. Yes, haply God imagined him for a curse, A scourge, a vengeance; with slow, patient art Him did He fashion cunningly ; saying : " This My sign and warning, to time s distant end, That all a loveless life is may be known, And desolate horror of pure avarice; The world is his, a world without a friend, Without one friend an honest man would own." PITY THE BLIND " PITY the blind!" Yes, pity those Whom day and night inclose In equal dark; to whom the sun s keen flame And pitchy night-time are the same. n But pity most the blind Who cannot see That to be kind Is life s felicity. PROOF OF SERVICE THOU who wouldst serve thy country and thy kind, Winning the praise of honorable men BLAME 4OI And love of many hearts know the true proof Of faithfulness lies not therein. That dwells In the lone consciousness of duty done, And in the scorn and contumely of souls Self-soiled with sin: the necessary hate Of perjured and contaminated spirits For that whose mere existence brings reproach, Shame, and despair for something lost forever. When thou hast won the hatred of the vile, Then know thou hast served well thy fellow-men. CONQUERED IN thine anger it was said: "Would that mine enemy were dead." Or, if thou saidest naught, That was thy thought. Now thou cryest, night and day: " Mine enemy hath conquered in our fight, In that he fled away Into the darkness and the night, Ere I to justice wakened and the right. Now this through all the anguished hours I say, As with my soul my soul doth strive: Would God mine enemy were alive!" BLAME (A MEMORY OF EISLEBEN, THE PLACE OF LUTHER S BIRTH AND DEATH) IN a far, lonely land at last I came Unto a town made great by one great fame. Born here, here died the noblest of his time, Whose memory makes his century sublime. 402 THE FIRE DIVINE But, O my God! I was not happy there, For down below, in dark and caverned air, Outstretched and cramped, the pallid miners lay. Their shortened lives, their absence from the day, Burdened my spirit with a sense of blame. Now you, and you I see you flush with shame. THE WHISPERERS (NEW YORK, 1905) IN the House of State at Albany, in shadowy cor ridors and corners, the whisperers whispered together. In sumptuous palaces in the great city men talked intently, with mouth to ear. Year in and year out they whispered, and talked, and no one heard save those who listened close. Now in the Hall of the City the whisperers again are whispering, the talkers are talking. They who once conversed so quietly, secretly, with shrugs and winks and ringer laid beside nose what has happened to their throats? For speak they never so low, their voices are as the voices of trumpets; whisper they never so close, their words are like alarm bells rung in the night. Every whisper is a shout, and the noise of their speech goes forth like thunders. They cry as from the housetops their voices resound up and down the streets; they echo from village to village and from city to city. Over prairies and mountains and across the salt sea their whispers go hissing and shouting. They say the thing they would not say, and quickly the shameful thing clamors back and forth over the round world ; BEFORE THE GRAND JURY 403 And when they would fain cease their saying, they may not, for a clear-voiced Questioner is as the finger of fate and the crack of doom. What they would hide they reveal, what they would cover they make plain; What they feared to speak aloud to one another, un willing they publish to all mankind; And the people listen with bowed heads, wondering and in grief; And wise men, and they who love their country, turn pale and ask: "What new shame will come upon us?" And again they ask, "Are these they in whose keep are the substance and hope of the widow and the father less?" And the poor man, plodding home with his scant earn ings from his hard week s work, hears the voices, with bitterness in his soul. And thieves, lurking in dark places and furtively seiz ing that which is not their own; and the petty and cow ardly briber, and he who is bribed, nudge one another; And the anarch and the thrower of bombs clap hands together, and cry out: "Behold these our allies!" BEFORE THE GRAND JURY A WOMAN, who has been a man s desire, Now cast aside like ashes from a fire, With startled breath, confessing all her shame, Here, looking in the faces of strange men, Who probe remorselessly their "where" and "when," Falters her dreadful story, that the blame May strike on the betrayer. In that glare Plead piteous answers hardly might she dare Murmur, at midnight, on a mother s breast. 404 THE FIRE DIVINE Was ever secret misery confest To such grim audience! O hapless fate For this sweet girl, and for her guiltier mate. Powers of the world, and O, ye Powers Unseen, Be stern, yet be ye kind! Let be the ends Of justice served; but hold a shield between Souls and the smiting sword. O, make amends In the oncoming years, or some far age. They are but caught in Nature s deathless rage; The fire that in their bodies burned doth hold The sun in heaven ; part is it of the force That keeps the stars each on its mystic course, While the all-changing universe grows never old. "IN THE CITIES" I IN the cities no longer the blaring of trumpets that sum mon to battle, From splendid towers the banners flash not forth in the breeze, No longer the ringing of war-bells, and the clattering sound of horsemen, The clangor of sword on shield, nor the cries of the feudal fighters Hurrying into the streets to strike with bullet and steel ; Clamoring, battering down; assailing high walls and towers; Rushing maddened, furious, to the killing of fellow- men. n Yet still a clangor of bells and a loud, shrill whistling and shouting, IN THE CITIES 405 But the sharp, quick sounds that startle proclaim not anger but mercy. For now, like winds and thunders, flash by the glittering engines, And the wagons, with ladders and axes, laden with well- trained men Eager to quench the flame, to scale the dangerous battle ments; Eager to risk their lives in the hissing blaze and the smoke That blinds, and that grips the throat like the throttling hand of murder. in On come the engines and wagons, and the Chief in his hooting chariot, And a boy, who hears them careering, rushes out to the crossing of ways, And, swinging his arms and shouting, clears a path for the shrieking engine, That rushes like winds and thunders down a vale of death and destruction And every man, at his post, on the winds of the human tempest, Mad for the saving of lives of men and of women and children To creep to the edge of death, to swing in dizzying chasms, To save the children of strangers, forgetting their own in their madness; And then if a comrade fall, how wild each man to the rescue, Plunging into the pit, poisoned, choked, unconscious; Revived, they struggle back gainst their officers yelled commandings Mad, mad, mad, for the saving of human life. 406 THE FIRE DIVINE IV And now, in the days of peace, no squadron charging by, But hark! down the street a sharp reiterant stroke and clamor, A rhythmic beating of hoofs, a galloping louder, closer, And again a youth leaps quick to the crossing of crowded ways, And he swings his arms and shouts, and clears, through the human currents, A path for the ringing ambulance, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying To a place where a child has fallen, is wounded nigh unto death, That the child may be tenderly lifted and skillfully nursed and tended Engine and hurrying ambulance screaming, ringing, impatient, Filling the frightened streets with echoes of old-time wars, Laden with men of might, skilled and fierce and deter mined Not as of old to maim, to harry and scatter destruction ; Not to take life, but to save it; not to kill, but to rescue the perishing. A TRAGEDY OF TO-DAY (NEW YORK, 1905) IN a little theater, in the Jewry of the New World, I sat among the sad-eyed exiles; Narrow was the stage and meagerly appointed, and the players gave themselves up utterly to their art; And, before our eyes, were enacted scenes of a play that scarcely seemed a play. A TRAGEDY OF TO-DAY 407 The place was a city in a wide, unhappy land; Even in that empire which drifts to-day like a great ship toward a black and unknown coast; While men, with blanched faces, cry out: "Unless the tempest abates quickly, behold the mightiest wreck on all the shores of time!" And the time of the drama was our own time ; and the coming and the going; and the people themselves were of our own day and generation; The people, with strange beards, and look of the im memorial Orient; like those men and women who, alien and melancholy, plod the New- World streets; Like those who, in slow and pitiful procession, on a fixed day of mourning, with dirges and wailings, poured innumerous into the city s open places; And, as the play went on, at times the very speech of the actors, in hot debate, crackled and sputtered like the fuse of a Russian bomb. And there an old man, the preacher of a hunted race and a despised religion, all alone called to his people to follow him, and their God, the God of Israel. Passionately he proclaimed the faith of the fathers and the saving word and protecting arm of the Almighty ; He, the voice and the prophet of the Lord High God, called aloud to them who strayed: " Come ye back to your God, and to His Everlasting Word. "Ye young men who have forgotten Him, the Un- forgetting, and ye old men mumbling your prayers; ye cowards! leaving the holy shrine unprotected"; And the young men answered and called the old man the name of them who are dead and have passed away; And the old men, unheeding, swayed to and fro, mum bling their ancient psalms and ineffectual supplications. Then, while the noise of the beastly rabble swelled 408 THE FIRE DIVINE louder and nearer then did the preacher turn once more to the Lord of Hosts, lifting up his voice in praise and prayer, and faith unquenchable; Crying to God with a loud voice and saying: "Lead me, Thou Jehovah! in the right way, " For now hath come the great day of the Lord ; now, Lord, save Thy people and bless Thy heritage, "Thou who wert, and art, and ever shalt be! Show now Thy Almightiness, send Thy miracle as lightning from on high." Nearer and nearer came the curses and shrieks and the wailing lamentations; and men and women fled, wounded, before the infamous and infuriate avengers; Then the crash of guns and the terror of carnage and rapine unspeakable; And, in the midst, the voice of an old man crying to heaven, and falling smitten and dead before the shrine of the God of Israel. And, listening, I heard not only the sounds of the mimic drama but, louder and more dreadful, the panting of miserable women who welcomed death, the deliverer; And from Kishineff and Odessa I heard, once more crying to heaven, the outpoured blood of the Jew. And still as I listened and dreamed, the crimson flood widened to a great and lustrous pool, And looking therein I saw reflected the faces of many known well to my heart and to the hearts of all the world, For there were the features of mighty warriors and makers of laws and leaders of men ; of poets inspired and of painters and musicians; and of famed philosophers, and of men and women who loved, and labored for, their kind; THE OLD HOUSE 409 And the faces of preachers and prophets; of those who fervently cursed the unrighteous, and who to a world in darkness brought light everlasting; And chief of all I saw in that crimson mirror the face of him whose spirit was bowed beneath the agonies of all mankind. THE OLD HOUSE HOME of my forebears, home of my dreaming childhood, House that I love with a love instinctive, changeless, Ancestral, mystical, passionate, tender, sorrowful; Old house where I was born and my mother before me Strangely the old house speaks to its child returning, Speaks with a tone affectionate, intimate, sweet, Made, mysterious, out of the voices of many Out of the accents of them, the loving, the loyal, That still in memory soothe and murmur and call; Voices that greeted my life and guided the journey, Human voices, long hushed, and the subtler speech That steals from the dumb, dead walls, and whispers and thrills, From the shadowy chimney-places, and haunted nooks; These centuried walls, this roof, and the buoyant branches Of large-leaved, mottled buttonwoods, towering mightily, And pines that my father planted, now loftily dying These are the vibrant notes of the one deep chord That sings in my heart, here by the ancient hearthstone. Five are the generations this place have humaned, Leaving their impress, I think, on the breathed air For full is the house of relics of lives departed : 410 THE FIRE DIVINE Carvings strange that some wanderer here enharbored, Bringing the Orient s touch to the wondering child; And Arctic gatherings; hints of the torrid zone; And quaint embroideries worked by hands ancestral, Deft for the spinning of flax on these silent wheels; Books of a day when each was a treasure, a star And chief of them all, to the trembling heart of a boy, The verse of him, the singer of song sonorous, Whose voice was the voice of trumpets and many waters, Whose soul went forth with angels and archangels, Nor stood dismayed before the Eternal presence. Pictures of faces whose features I see in my own That I see re-imaged by laws unfathomed, fateful, In my own children s pleading, innocent faces; Volumes of lores outgrown, or a living art; Bibles and books of devotion, where names are enrolled In letters that fade like the image of souls long dead. Not without tears may I ponder the yellowing leaves Where record was made of secretest dreams and prayers Records of love accomplished, or unfulfilled. Were the aged faces I knew, the timorous maidens Who, wistful, their innocent passions here hinted, or hid? This wife new-married, so young, so sweet, so appealing, Was this the angelical mother, she of great sorrows, Loving and dreaming in age, as in palpitant girlhood? This lock, among many a tress so lovingly treasured Ah, this is my own, by hands that I knew so well, Cut from a golden head that long has been silvered. in The old house speaks, and low, in the glimmering twilight, It murmurs of days that are gone, and spirits lamented; A girlish face with a smile all radiant, loving THE OLD HOUSE 411 Sweet cousin mine ! where, in the land of shadows, Doth that smile illume, that voice bring joy as of old? This quaint and closeted chamber, ah, here was unfolded The love of a child for a child, through years and through sorrows Remembered and cherished by each, the love of the old For the old, now, the love of the old for lost youth And comrades long gone, and loved and remembered together. And she with the heart of a queen, and the soul of a martyr; In young days serene, and blithe and undaunted in age, Who loved the old house, even as I, her birthplace, her refuge, She in a vision comes near; and quick I remember One night of all nights, when a messenger stood in the doorway Silent he stood, and we knew the message unspoken ! O night of nights, when a wife turned sudden a widow, And a child, neath the solacing stars, passed swift into manhood. IV But of childhood the old house whispers and murmurs to-night, Of the twilight hour in the arms of her the beloved And loving sister of her who gave me my being Who like a second mother encompassed my childhood With song and with story, with gleams of fairy and hero, Chanting in twilight gray the ancient ballads, Or crooning, as if to herself, the love-songs of girlhood; Or, again, she fashioned the tales of her own young days: Of the country balls, in the time when winter was winter, And the snows were piled high as the head of a man, And the ringing sleighs sped over the fields and the fences 412 THE FIRE DIVINE To the revels and routs in the taverns of long ago; When the dancing would last till dawn, and the dancers flew From village to village, and tavern to tavern, all night; Turning the snow-lit dark to rollicking day. O days and nights of a far and happy world ! Of childhood the old house whispers, of wintry sports With sled and skate on the ponds long filled and forgotten ; Wild joys of meadow, and woods, and waters; of branches Laden with black-heart cherries, where boys and birds Alternate shared the wealth of the aery feast. Of boyhood the old house whispers, of moonlit voyages On the wooded stream, that wound in silent reaches, Far through the mystic land of awakening life. VI And now, in the twilight hour, dear, living voices, The voices of children I hear, they come to my call; And I tell of the days that are gone, and they hark with delight As I, in my youth, heard the tales of the ancient days; Then good-night, and to bed! But the teller of ancient tales Stays by the dying fire and listens, again, To the thronging voices that murmur to him alone. "THERE S NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE!" BACK to the old place I ve come home again, Back at last from the big town, NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE 413 After so many hard and struggling years; Back to the old home, the old home in the mountains, In the valley of childhood; And I say to myself, again and again I say: There s no place like the old place! u Here once more I wander, here, in the valley of brooks, I wander a stranger where every spring and tree and rock is familiar. The little brooks tinkle down, with the old music, through the pine-darkened gorges; The brooks that sometimes run dry, or hide under the smooth stones; In the time of fullness leaping from ledge to ledge down to the big brook that never dries; Where the trout dartle and the pools are shadowy and cool And good to the hot body of a boy. Lovely, with an intimate loveliness, is the valley, And again and again I chant to myself: O, there s no place like the old place! in There s no place like the old place ! Strangely nearer seem the walls of the valley, Tho far and spacious as ever the mysterious sunset. Never before have I felt so intensely the beauty of it all How well-shaped the double valley; The upper valley like a great, green bowl, And the lower valley opening out toward the sunset like a trumpet; The mountains embowered with evergreens, and maples, and chestnuts 414 THE FIRE DIVINE Or lying naked in the sun, Scraped bare by the ancient glacier, Scoured by rains and scarred by lightnings, And with a look as if the salt sea had beaten and bitten there for a thousand years. IV Stately and gracious with elms and willows are the smooth and grassy meadows Leveled for human use by the lakes of untold ages, Then covered with forests, that the pioneers uprooted Rich now and full of peace; bringing back the well-loved images of the Bible; Meadows where first I heard the swift song of the bobo link, Throbbing and ringing madly, back and forth in the meadow air, And whence, in full summer, after a long, hot day The boy that was I came back to the home barn Royally charioted on the high-piled, sweet-scented hay. Ah, there s no place like the old place! There, under the hill, is the homestead; How large the maples have grown that the old folks planted ! Sweet was the sap in the spring and the shade in the summer. I never knew such water as from the spring at our house, Running cold as ice in the kitchen and out in the barn. And the little window up there was mine ! I tell you I slept well, and rose early in those days, Tho sometimes at night after a long rain, or when the ice was melting in Hayes s pond, NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE 415 I could scarce sleep for the brook roaring like Niagara, As it leapt the mill-dams and -spread out over the meadows, Scurrying great logs along, and every footbridge in the valley. But most times it was quiet enough at the old home The dear old place, the old place that s the best place! VI O, there s no place like the old place, and no time like the old time! The chores were rough, but the keener the zest for the play! For chestnuting in the frosty autumn, For the tug of the bass at Goose pond and the lake at Monterey, And the day of fun at the county fair ; For the skim on the frozen meadow on winter nights, Or the watch at the pickerel flags in the ice-holes on the white spread of the mountain lakes, Or the flying plunge of the bob-sled down Papermill hill; The chase for the woodchuck, and the far-circling fox, and the all-night tramp for the treed coon ; For a hay-ride with a bevy of girls and a moonlight drive with one; For wanderings through the woods and over the hills, When the billowing mountain-laurel from afar off Looked like flocks of sheep on the high terraces of the old Sweet farm; When the hiding arbutus or gossamer clematis faintly scented the clean air; When came the child s first thrill at the boom of the startled partridge, 416 THE FIRE DIVINE And when first the adventurer heard a whole, great blossoming linden Humming, with honey-gathering bees, like the pluckt string of a violin. vn O, there s no place like the old place! Mightier mountains there are, sky-piercing and snow- covered all the year round, But the lion-like curve of Cobble, clear-cut against the southern heavens, On still, cold nights heaves close to the thick stars; And the white ways of the Galaxy I have seen start from the lion s head And sweep over to the long mountain, as if all the light and glory were for the valley only. Day and night, in sunlight and starlight, and in the light of the moon, Beautiful, beautiful is the valley of brooks. Travelers have said that in the whole earth there is none more beautiful. Why have I stayed away so long ? I think I will come again and again before I die And perhaps after I have died; for in the white graveyard on the hill Rest, in the long sleep, some whom one day I should like to join. I wonder shall I seem to them as strange as now to me The image of my own self as I was in the days of child hood: An image that haunts me hourly while here I wander and dream, And makes me strange to myself in a curious double existence. GLEN GILDER 417 The old friends seem to know me but I am never de ceived ; The one that I am is not the one that I was yet truly No one but I ever knew the youth who departed, And the youth who departed still lives in the elder re turning, In whose bosom revive the days that forever are gone The old love and the old sweet longings; The old love for the old place, that deepens as age comes closer, And the heart keeps sighing and singing: There s no place like the old place! GLEN GILDER How curves the little river through Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder; Now it runs and now it rushes, now it sings and now it hushes O er the rocks and by the brushes in Glen Gilder. All music is the river in Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder; It sounds like wild birds singing, and it chimes like bells a-ringing Birds, too, their songs are flinging in Glen Gilder. O mighty are the willows of Glen Gilder, of Glen Gilder; Cool the air and cool the waters neath the giant spread ing shadows, And beyond wide sweep the meadows from Glen Gilder. O, there s life and fun and frolic in Glen Gilder, in Glen Gilder; And near the men are haying, and here the cows are stray ing, And the lambs and colts are playing in Glen Gilder. 418 THE FIRE DIVINE Spring and autumn bring a change to fair Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder; Above the banks and under come the freshet s rage and thunder, And men look with awe and wonder on Glen Gilder. O, white the world of winter in Glen Gilder, in Glen Gilder; Neath ice the waves are creeping, or down in dark pools sleeping, Or with sound of sleigh-bells leaping in Glen Gilder. O, beautiful the morning in Glen Gilder, in Glen Gilder; But, O, most dear and tender when blooms the sunset splendor, At dying day s surrender in Glen Gilder. And now the lingering sunlight leaves Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder; While moony shades are stalking, is it the wavelets talk ing, Or whispering lovers walking in Glen Gilder? SONG MARIA mia! all in white Your fairy form against the night, Maria ! Maria mia! in the night Gleams like a ghost your form so slight, Maria ! Maria mia ! like a sprite Burn those eyes in dusky light, Maria ! I DREAMED 419 Maria mia ! sweet and wise Those darkling, deep, Italian eyes, Maria ! Maria mia! starry skies Hold no such brightness as those eyes, Maria ! Maria mia! turn, O turn Those eyes away that beam and burn, Maria ! Maria mia ! when those eyes Burn close, O close, I am not wise, Maria ! I am not wise, Maria ! OBSCURATION THIS night, when I blew out my candle flame, The window s dark square suddenly turned white ! I had not known the half-moon shone so bright, And that a cool, sweet, silent moonbeam came Through summer air, faint-touched with autumn frost, And poured upon my floor a pool of light ! Pure, heavenly visitant and almost thou wert lost. "I DREAMED" I DREAMED a tender and mysterious dream Of one who, threading paths of earthly fate, In a rich twilight walked, with heart aglow, And all his soul vibrant with unheard tones, "Drawn, drawn by the soft splendor of a face." 420 THE FIRE DIVINE IMPROMPTUS OM LOVE TO LO (FOR A WEDDING) FROM love to love she passes on this day; Yet all the love she leaves with her doth stay; Deep, deep, the new love, in her heart of hearts, And the old love follows her when she departs: So is she richer than she was before, For of true love she hath a mightier store. "l ASKED YOU TO READ MY POEM" I ASKED you to read my poem, so shameless was I, I not used such boon and service to ask; This my excuse when you hear, you will not deny The prayer of the poet, who saw the soul through the mask. The singer sails in a sea beyond sight or ken, And he flings his plummet of song by night and by day; With his poems he sounds the depths of the souls of men In your soul my song I flung to fathom the way. NAZIMOVA FROM every motion, every lovely line, Breathe art and passion; music from those lips; The tragic Orient from those lustrous eyes. A WARRIOR OF TROY LET other gray-beards mourn the flight of years, Finding no gains of eld to match its fears; IMPROMPTUS 421 I have no feud with fate, nor age, nor time, Who knew great Helen in her golden prime. THE OBELISK (l88l) BENEATH a stone wrenched from Egyptian sands Six rivers run through six imperial lands; Nile, Bosphorus, Tiber, Seine, and Thames, till now The Hudson wears the jewel on her brow. Land that we love ! O be thou, by this sign, Tho last, the noblest of the mighty line. CROWNED ABSURDITIES I ASKED me: what in all the world so odd And laughable to men, and unto God The hight of comedy in earthly things? That lot of little men pretending to be kings! TO "LITTLE LADY MARGARET" WITH A BOOK OF POEMS THEY who love the poets Will never lack a friend Up the road, and down the road, And to the very end. SACRILEGE WED, thou, with sweet and silent Death, Rather than join the prurient throng Would soil, with foul, empoisoned breath, The sanctity of song. TO THE HERO OF A SCIENTIFIC ROMANCE IF you wish, go be a pig, In and out of season; But do not bore us with a big Philosophic reason. 422 THE- FIRE DIVINE THE WATCHMAN ON THE TOWER (JANUARY, 1907) WA TCHMA N I What seest thou in the New Dawn ? Far off, across the seas, I behold men pursuing men and helpless women with dreadful massacre; borne on the eastern wind I hear the horrible cries of the murdered and bereft. And what seest thou nearer, O Watchman oj the Tower ? Nearer I see dark and cowering forms of crime and frightened innocence, alike given pitilessly to the green tree and the red flame. And what else nearer dost thou see, O Seer of Evil Things ? I see smoldering fires and drift of black smoke where all manner of shames have been burned in the market places, befouling the pure air of heaven. And now, again, thou seest ? I see scared creatures, in shape of men, fleeing from the light, and hiding in clefts of rocks, and in far places of the earth. Look well, O Watchman, look near and wide, and tell us, who wait, what other things thou dost behold 1 I see the shining faces of little children from whose backs heavy burdens have been lifted; I see rich men eagerly scattering their wealth among those who need lifting up the stricken and restoring the power of self- help to the sturdy, and striving to make less hard the lot of them who work; I see those who labor winning an ampler share in the profits of their toil in wage, and comfort, and safety, and time for rest; I behold Science conquering the secrets and guiding the forces of nature, and creating new and wondrous devices for human hap- THE WATCHMAN ON THE TOWER 423 piness working miracles in culture of the soil, and in the cure of sickness; I behold Art going up and down the land, making homes and cities more beautiful; I behold Service honored above possessions ; I see men as brothers, in times of calm and in days of monstrous calamity, stretching hands to one another over lands and seas, and across the ancient barriers of race, and religion, and condition; I see the hearts of men go out, in new love and care and understanding, to the beasts of the field and to the birds of the air; I hear the voices of poets and prophets troubling the hearts and lifting up the souls of all mankind ; and in all these I see the mind of the Son of Man, and the power of the Will Eternal. O Seer of Good and Evil, what else, what else ? Near by I behold the Angel of a People, and in his hand he bears a standard whereon is writ, in letters of light, the one word Truth ; higher he bears the standard than ever before, and the people, in gathering numbers, follow the Word. And what of the evil things that late thou sawest ? Still I see them, and many more, but fainter are they growing, as by some element of light consumed. Yet doth one strange and greatly evil thing loom with menace against the dawn the shadow of false and self-seeking men who seize the banner of righteousness and with unclean hands uplift it, to the deceiving of many; and yet even here, I know, it is the love of Right and not of Wrong which doth mislead; and as the light increases, surely the pure in heart shall know their own and shun the deceiver of souls. And what o) the good that late thou sawest ? O still I see the good, and with clearer eyes; and, lo, it 424 THE FIRE DIVINE doth appear that, in the light of the New Dawn, greater and always greater grows the good, and nearer and al ways nearer. For now, with the rising sun, a company of angels in new flight lift their wings and come upon the day, and one is the bright Angel of Freedom, and one the strong Angel of Justice, and one is the undaunted Angel of Peace, and one the Angel of Hope Everlasting. With a great and wonderful burst of light they come, and with loud music of instruments and many voices. O Watcher of the Dawn! thou seest what is, but canst thou see what yet shall be ? O ye who doubt ! In the visible present lives the invisi ble future, and the hour that is brings the hour that shall be. If the Light grows, it shall not cease to grow ; and the good that is brings the good that is to come. As with separate souls, so with peoples the New Year, tho it holds inheritance of shame and loss, holds, also, inher itance of striving, and accomplishment, and divine aspi ration. Lo, the Light is climbing, not only of a New Year, but of a New Era for the awakening world. UNDER THE STARS A REQUIEM FOR AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS I KINDRED stars, wherethrough his soul in flight Past to the immortals! neath your ageless light 1 stand perplext, remembering that keen spirit Quenched in mid-strength; the world, that shall inherit His legacy of genius, all deprived Of wealth untold, the still ungathered fruit Of that great art! What honey all unhived; What unborn grandeurs; noble music mute! UNDER THE STARS 425 II O silent stars! even as I barken here, Heart-heavy, a murmurous and mysterious voice, Blent with sweet wiry tones, on the inward ear Strikes, and I hear the summons : " O rejoice, Rejoice and mourn not!" Then that wondrous star Now drawn near earth, named for the god of war, The fiery planet cries across the night: "Victory, Victory, he hath won the fight!" m O star of fire ! he was thy very child ! Mixt with his blood thy fierce, ensanguined ray ! Gainst the proud forces of the sordid day He battled valiantly, all unbeguiled By what might tempt or foil a lesser soul. Not wealth, nor ease, nor praise unworthily won Could touch his spirit ; " There the swift course to run ! " "There, there, O see! the bright, immortal goal!" IV Thou star of blood and battle ! rich and sweet Thy liquid gleam, where, in the twilight sky, Thou shinest greatly! So did his art repeat Thy strength, thy loveliness; thy ministry, In a dark, harmful world, of Beauty s guerdon ; Beauty that broods, enlightens, and makes endure The heart of man beneath its heavy burden, Lifting above the strife a deathless lure. v O starry skies! O palpitant winds whose throbbings From out the vast of heaven pulse and flow ! In light and sound eterne our human sobbings 426 THE FIRE DIVINE Are lost. How dear to him who lieth low The garment wonderful wild nature throws About its inner life : green glades withdrawn ; Anger of ocean; radiance of the rose; The pomp superb of sunset and of dawn. VI White, trembling fires of the unknown universe ! Ye speak of some august, inscrutable Power Creative, from whose hand, to bless or curse, Ye were sent forth thrillingly, in an hour Of force stupendous, swift, immeasurable; To-night those unconsuming fires tell Of one who, in the splendor of his passion, Alas! tho mortal, could the immortal fashion. VII O stars that sing as in creation s prime ! He whom, with love and tears, we celebrate, He, like the Power that made ye, could create Bringing to birth new beauty for all time: Once, lo ! these shapes were not, now do they live, And shall forever in the hearts of men ; And from their life new life shall spring again, To souls unborn new light and joy to give. vm Ye stars, all music to the spirit s ear! Before the imperial music-masters knelt This master of an art sublime, austere; The very soul of music in him dwelt, So in his lines the haunting strains of lyres, From gracious forms deep tones symphonic spring; Once more we hear the sound of heavenly wires, Again the stars of morn together sing. UNDER THE STARS 427 IX Red star of war! thy sons did he enshrine In glorious art fighters on sea and land; In bronze they give again the brave command; In bronze they march resistless, in divine Ecstasy of devotion, not in wrath; The fire and fury of battle he made real, But like God s prophets moved they on their path Led and uplifted by the great Ideal. O fateful stars! that lit the climbing way Of that dear, martyred son of fate and fame, The supreme soul of an immortal day, Linked with his name is our great sculptor s name; For now in art eternal breathes again The gaunt, sweet presence of our chief of men That soul of tenderness; that spirit stern, Whose fires divine forever flame and burn. XI Stars of white midnight ! tho unseen by day, Imagined! He the unseen could subtly see And image forth in most divine array: Blest Charity, and Love, and Loyalty, And Victory, and Grief; and, with a touch Made tender by heroic years of pain, Telling in art what words might not contain, The calm, sweet face of Him who suffered much. xn Mysterious sky! where orbs constellate reign! Toward which the heart of man through endless ages 428 THE FIRE DIVINE Hath flung eternal questionings in vain Yet hath he read a little in thy pages; And him we miss, learned well from thee to mold, As by the hand of Fate, in time s dark womb, That mystic form, a thousand centuries old; That mournless mourner near a tragic tomb. xm Ye stars eternal ! in your motions wide I feel the march of time; audibly pours To faithful ears the immemorial tide Of starry seas that beat on infinite shores; And, in that music magical, cold death, And grief its shadow, melt and are undone ; And that which brings the miracle of breath, And that which takes, ay, that which takes, are one. XIV O star of war ! beyond thy troublous beams His freed soul wings to a great calm at last; The deep night, with its tremulous, starry streams Of light celestial, pours repose so vast Naught can escape that flood; and now the faces, Angelical, he molded with pure art, In majesty look forth from heavenly spaces. Enter thy peace, O high, tempestuous heart! IN HELENA S GARDEN IN HELENA S GARDEN PART I IN HELENA S GARDEN THE SUNSET WINDOW THROUGH the garden sunset- window Shines the sky of rose; Deep the melting red, and deeper, Lovelier it grows. Musically falls the fountain ; Twilight voices chime; Visibly upon the cloud-lands Tread the feet of Time. Evening winds from down the valley Stir the waters cool ; Break the dark, empurpled shadows In the marble pool. Rich against the high-walled grayness The crimson lily glows, And near, O near, one well-loved presence Dream-like comes and goes. " THE GRAY WALLS OF THE GARDEN " THE gray walls of the garden Hold many and many a bloom; A flame of red against the gray Is lightning in the gloom. 432 IN HELENA S GARDEN The gray walls of the garden Hold grassy walks between Bright beds of yellow blossoms, Golden against the green. And in the roof of the arbor Leaves woven through and through, Great grape leaves, making shadows, Shine green against the blue. And, O, in the August weather What wonders new are seen! Long beds of azure blossoms Cool blue against the green. The gray walls of the garden Hold paths of pure delight, And, in the emerald, blooms of pearl Are white against the night. THE MARBLE POOL THE marble pool, like the great sea, hath moods Fierce angers, slumbers, deep beatitudes. In sudden gusts the pool, in lengthened waves, As in a mimic tempest, tosses and raves. In the still, drowsy, dreaming midday hours It sleeps and dreams among the dreaming flowers. Neath troubled skies the surface of its sleep Is fretted ; how the big drops rush and leap ! Now t is a mirror where the sky of night Sees its mysterious face of starry light; IN HELENA S GARDEN 433 Or where the tragic sunset is reborn, Or the sweet, virginal mystery of morn. One little pool holds ocean, brink to brink; One little heart can hold the world, I think. THE TABLE ROUND I WHAT think you of the Table Round Which the garden s rustic arbor In pride doth harbor? And what its weight, how many a pound? Or shall you reckon that in tons? For this is of earth s mighty ones: A mill-stone t is, that turns no more, But, on a pier sunk deep in ground, Like a ship that s come to shore, Content among its flowery neighbors It rests forever from its labors. ii Now no more mid grind and hammer Are the toiling moments past, But amid a milder clamor Stays it fast. For the Garden Lady here, When the summer sky is clear, With her bevy of bright daughters (Each worth a sonnet) To the tune of plashing waters Serves the tea upon it. in And when Maria, and when Molly, Frances, Alice, Grace, Cecilia, Clara, Bess, and Pretty Polly, 434 IN HELENA S GARDEN Lolah and the dark Amelia, Come with various other ladies, Certain boys, and grown-ups graver Then, be sure, not one afraid is To let his wit give forth its flavor, With the fragrant odor blent Of the Souchong, and the scent Of the roses and sweet-peas And other blossoms sweet as these. Then, indeed, doth joy abound About the granite table round, And the stream of laughter flowing Almost sets the old stone going. THE SUN-DIAL ON the sun-dial in the garden The great sun keeps the time; A faint, small moving shadow, And we know the worlds are in rhyme; And if once that shadow should falter By the space of a child s eye-lash The seas would devour the mountains, And the stars together crash. SOMETHING missing from the garden? But all s bright there; Color in the daytime, Perfume in the night there. Something wanting in the garden? Yet the blossoms IN HELENA S GARDEN 435 Bring the hum-birds to the sweetness In their bosoms. And by day the sunlight golden On the granite Glistens, and by night the silver starlight From some near planet. Something missing from the garden ? But the mountain Ceaseless pours a secret streamlet Filmy from the fountain; And that streamlet winds blow, wave-like, Down the flowers, And, in the mist, faint, flickering rainbows Flash through mimic showers. Something wanting in the garden When all s bright there? Color in the daytime, Perfume in the night there? Then what missing from the garden Spoils its pleasance ? Just a breath of something human; Just one presence. THREE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN THREE blossoms in a happy garden grow Have care, for this one, lo, is white as any snow : Its name is Peace. Three flowers and one, in hue, a delicate gold ; A harsh breath, then its golden leaves shall droop and fold Its name is Joy. 436 IN HELENA S GARDEN Three flowers and one is crimson, rich and strong ; This will, if well entreated, all others outlive long : Its name is Love. EARLY AUTUMN THE garden still is green And green the trees around But the winds are roaring overhead And branches strew the ground. /* And to-day on the garden pool Floated an autumn leaf: How rush the seasons, rush the years, And, O, how life is brief! THE LAST FLOWER OF THE GARDEN ONE by one the flowers of the garden To autumn yielded as waned the sun; So prisoners, called by the cruel Terror, To death went, one by one. Roses, and many a delicate blossom, Down fell their heads, in the breezes keen, One by one ; and the frost of autumn Was the blade of their guillotine. And at last an hour when the emerald pathways Grew from green to a wintry white; And a new, strange beauty came into the garden In the full moon s flooding light. For a radiance struck on the columned fountain As it shot to the stars in a trembling stream, And a rainbow, springing above the garden, Was the dream of a dream in a dream. THE VOICE OF THE HIGHT 437 And we who loved well that place of flowers Looked with awe on the wondrous birth, And knew that the last flower of the garden Was something not of earth. PART II THE LION OF TYRINGHAM MIDWAY the valley, fronting the flusht morn, The huge beast stretches prone, as by the Nile The enormous Sphinx; so nature mimics nature, And man s own art tho never such vast shape By man was fashioned. Thus through ages long Hath he the tempest and the rain endured, And the all-rending frost, and the great sun, And the remorseless winters of the world. What shall that immemorial rest disturb? His monstrous head down prest betwixt huge paws. How well he sleeps! Not deeper slumber holds The dead in the white city far below. And shall he waken ? Shall the dead awake ? THE VOICE OF THE HIGHT i OF a dream I would sing and a river I saw in a dream Of souls that the river divided, so wide was the stream, So wide and so deep that neither the other beheld. And they gazed on the ocean near, by terror com pelled On the infinite ocean whither their barks had been hurled In a tempest that drove from the ultimate, unseen world. 438 IN HELENA S GARDEN By that ocean they stood in awe, and remembrance, and wonder; Troubled their hearts with the ceaseless surge and the thunder Till in fear they turned, and they gazed on the inland bight, And the mountains that called by day and beckoned by night, And, each to the other unknown, by that call was shaken : O, lost is the soul that the voice of the hight shall not waken, Nor heavenward climb by the paths high hearts have taken. H Inland the new souls urged, by river and marsh, Treading with stedfast feet the roadways harsh. Inland and up through fields of flower or thorn, Through forests rude, and through desert ways forlorn Upward and on by meadows blossoming bright Or where, under pestilent breath, the earth was blight; Onward and up and still by the river s brink Where, nigh unto death, they lived by the living drink. in And now, behold, they nearer and nearer drew Till each pilgrim soul the other beheld and knew, And climbing thus ever higher, they came more nigh, Above the enfolding mists, neath the bending sky Till at last at the river s source, near the mountain s crest, At the selfsame spring they drank, and the waters of rest; For they followed the paths high hearts have climbed to the sun, And the souls that the river divided became as one. A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP 439 A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP WE have come nearer, friend! The thought of each, to each Shines clearer, dearer, friend! All doubts have fled away; Strange deeds and baffling speech Now are clear as day. Naught between us, naught To hurt or separate; No battles to be fought. Friends now, in more than name; Forever friends, our fate Tho never again the same. We have come nearer, friend! Would it were not so late, But all the dearer, friend! What sorcery, new and strange, What word, what mystic token, Has worked the wondrous change ? No word of secret powers, Nothing sung or spoken, Only the near, dear hours Under the starry sky; Trust and peace unbroken; Silence, and a sigh. 440 IN HELENA S GARDEN A ROSE OF DREAM I DREAMED a rose ; it bloomed Beyond compare; Of all wild blossoms by the wayside Most rich, most sweet, most rare. So lovely was the rose I could but love it, As, drinking deep its fragrant soul, I bent above it. O tenderly its leaves Outbreathed their beauty; Humbly to worship at that shrine Was my dear duty. Once, when in the twilight hour, Its spirit drew me O wonderful! I was aware That wild rose knew me. Knew me, my inmost heart And, O above All joy imagined ! lo ! my rose Gave love for love. SONG O, WHITHER has she fled from out the dawning and the day? Empty is the dark of her, and twilight silver gray, For the world that she makes happy now is far and far away. WHEN GIRLS COME TO THE OLD HOUSE 441 Strange, because a girl is gone the stars are not so bright, The sunset sky not fair as once, nor morning after night, While from the day has past away a dear and lovely light. Come back, come back, my darling girl, and set the stars aglow ; And make the daylight dear again, and make the blos soms blow; Come back, come back, my golden girl, never again to go. "WHEN THE GIRLS COME TO THE OLD HOUSE " WHEN the girls come To the old house, to the old, old home; When the girls race through it, How will they endue it With light and warmth and fun, Beyond the touch of the sun. II When the girls run through it, How the old house will awaken ! Never fear ! It will not rue it When it feels its old bones shaken, From ancient sill to centuried rafter, With sweet girl laughter. in When the girls race through it, How each old ghost in its own old nook, 442 IN HELENA S GARDEN That it never forsook, How it will run When the girls pursue it With frolic and fun! IV Old house ! old home ! Come, light The fires again on the dear hearths of old. All must be bright; Not a room shall be cold; And on the great hearth, where, in the old days, Beside the fierce blaze There was room, and to spare, for each grown-up and child, High let the fire be piled! v Old house ! Old home ! You need no wine To cheer you now, for the joyous ripple Of girlish laughter is quite enough tipple! O, what liquor Like the innocent shine, The sparkle and flicker, In the eyes of youth ! And, of a truth, *T is youth, old house! t is youth that fills you; Youth that calls to you; youth that thrills you. VI Old house ! Old home ! O, do not dare To be sad, tho aware Of the golden, and the raven, and the pretty, pretty curls, Of the little dead girls Treasures put away in the old chest in the garret. Be glad, old house ! the new girls have come to share it : The great, deep hearth, with room and to spare; THE SONG OF A SONG 443 The dark garret, and the wide hall, and the quaint, old stair And to bring back to earth The old, sweet mirth. THE SONG OF A SONG "WHEN in the morning you wake," Said the Song; " You shall remember me All the day long, As the bird remembers the tree, As the swan remembers the lake. And when the stars go, one by one, Like bright souls banished, Your heart shall echo the Song of the sad Stars vanished. ii "When comes the day, with rush and run, Over the roofs the shadow from the rising sun that falls, Over the roofs and down the walls, Along the roofs and over the brink, This shall make you think Of the Song that sang the Shadow, and sang the Sun. HI "And the narrow street, This have I sung so sweet That you cannot, even if you would, Lose the Song; and your feet Its music shall repeat, As a bird sings in a wood Cheerily, cheerily sings, Remembering lovely things. 444 IN HELENA S GARDEN IV "And the vine on the house where you live," Said the Song, 1 The vine that I sang in blossom, or wintry bare You shall sing to yourself the air Of the Song of the Vine ; it shall follow you every where; Of the vine like a silent, purple cataract pouring down, Here in the midst of the noise and the dust of the town. Are you gay ? Do you grieve ? The Song will find you ; Whether you stay or go the Vine will remind you Of the Song of the Vine, the Song of the House of the Vine The Song of Home, and Children, and Love Divine. v "And the Song of the Stars, and the Shadow, and Rising Sun, And the Song of the Street, Whose music is in your feet, And the Song of the Vine, and the House of the Vine One poet has sung them all, And they are but one," Said the Song. THE NET CAUGHT in the golden net of the poet s song, And held there close and long, How many a marvelous thing! A humming-bird s invisible wing; A rose that sent its luring fragrance through night air, Taken all unaware; SONG 445 The star of dawn that knew not human eyes Dared its inviolate secrecies; A tear shed by an archangel who looked down On an unpitying town; A maiden s dream wherefrom she woke And into secret, silent tremors broke; And (O, ye wandering, wan and wayward feet, Beware that music piercing sweet That all too ravishing art !) Caught in the golden net of the poet s song, (Pray Heaven there come no wrong !) One little, fluttering heart. SONG O PURER far than ever I ! Be nobler than to choose me: Flee from me, Sweet; I fain would die If thou shouldst not refuse me. And when I m dead, and thou, too, Sweet, Because I did refuse thee; Perhaps our new-born souls may meet And know, and I not lose thee. SONG I AWOKE in the morning not knowing What it was that had set my heart glowing; Something had come to me That was the sum to me Of all human happiness crown of life s bliss. Tho drowsyhead sleep its image might blot, I knew it was there, tho its shape I forgot. My mind was blue sky with nothing but joy in it; 446 IN HELENA S GARDEN Not even a dream of the night had employ in it; No cloud dimmed the blue; Then I said: "Shall I miss My nameless, new bliss?" When sudden it came Like lightning, like flame; And, ah, it was this It was you ! "WHEN THE WAR FLEET PUTS TO SEA" WHEN the war fleet puts to sea, And the great guns thunder, Our hearts leap up in glee And awe and wonder When the war fleet puts to sea. Let it be peace, not war, The strong ships carry; Two coasts that stretch afar Now meet and marry Let it be peace, not war. And let no ill befall! Be kind, ye fates! Stern skies preserve them all In the stormy straits O, let no ill befall. And if dread war shall loom In far-off days, Let the shotted cannon boom In prayer and praise If dreadful war shall loom. ART 447 Behind the bellowing guns That do their part, Let stand the nation s sons All pure in heart Behind the bellowing guns. Then not in pride or hate Let one shot speed; Be righteous souls elate To do the deed - O, not in pride or hate. And thou, Eternal Power! Bring swift the day When Right shall rule the hour, And Peace alone have sway O, high Eternal Power! ART (MISS GERALDINE FARRAR IN " MADAMA BUTTERFLY ") A LITTLE, loosened leaf of painted paper Slow quivering down From a stage Nagasaki cherry-tree That screens a painted town. And flitting back and forth in silken robes A figure slight, With orient gestures, and fixt orient smile, And voice of pure delight. And every note she sang and word she spoke Was for her writ; Not nature here, but art and artifice, And cunning human wit. 448 IN HELENA S GARDEN Yet when that paper petal trembled down, Spring thrilled the air; And when she sang, I knew love s hight and depth And passion and despair. IN PRAISE OF PORTRAITURE 1 MYRIADS of souls from out the unknown vast Flash forth and swift return. Tho something stays, Remembered words and deeds, the look they wore Were lost forever save for the art we praise The art that holds the fleeting spirit fast: Afield, in household ways, at rest, a-dance; The sweet, companionable presence; the austere Demeanor, hiding a rich heart; the glance, Intense and penetrant, that says a soul is here. A soul is here, even as in life it lived, It wantoned, it impassioned, joyed and grieved; So might an angel through life s doorway peer, Half drawing back as if in mortal fear; So might a lost soul linger, leaving here Remembrance of the horror of its doom: A living soul, defiant of the tomb. Great were the masters of the art we praise, In other lands, in past and splendid days. What souls the chief Venetian in his art Makes to the eye apparent, and the heart! What warriors, princes, women all of grace: Beauty of body, loveliness of face! Master of color, he, well-nigh supreme, Who nobly drew that which before was dream ! Glorious is Spain in the proud souls that breathe l Address, presenting Cecilia Beaux to the Provost of The University of Pennsylvania for the degree of LL. D., February 22, 1908. IN PRAISE OF PORTRAITURE 449 In that most delicate and subtle touch, The art miraculous, the not too much, Of him whose brows the generations wreathe With laurel on laurel, as the world grows old, And all its annals one Velasquez hold. And by the northern seas his art sublime That trembles with the tragedies of time His art who knew all mysteries of light, Not less the heart of man; for in his sight No secret could endure, and on his page The soul s dark pathos lives from age to age. They live indeed, whom art has made to live How real from the canvas forth they look And judgment seem on our own selves to give As we judge them. Miraculous art, that took Through all the centuries the tongue of praise, And worthy all honors, not for the old days Alone, and painters gone before no less For those who dare discipleship confess And in the footsteps of the mighty tread. With modern skill the ancient mode they keep; On the old altar burns the authentic fire ; Priests of the ancient faith, that never sleep; They, with new masters of the sacred lyre, And all the sons of genius, still aspire Purely and greatly; rendering our late time, Not less than that long gone, imperial, sublime ! Lady, shrink not that you, to-day, we name In the same breath with the age-conquering fame Of them most glorious in a mighty line. Not for the living is it to assign Rank to the living, in the long roll of art. But blame us not if here we crown the intent 450 IN HELENA S GARDEN Not less than the sincere accomplishment. We only know the art we see and love Is beautiful, intense, most subtile, rare, And tho with something from our New World air Athrill, yet is it masterful, above All else, with the old mastery not old But fresh forever as the dawn s new gold. And in your art, that follows down the line Of the world s noblest, the most high, divine Kinship of them who painted the deep soul, Glows a clear, individual attribute; Something whereof the praiser would be mute Save that he needs must tell the very whole And in his office utterly faithful be: Something that means swift vision of the truth; The flame of life; the flush of endless youth; A trait compounded all of Poesy; A tone most exquisite, illuminate With the keen sense of Beauty which even art Can lift above itself; a throbbing heart; An element that sets the noonday beam Vibrant with tints; that makes the little, great; And while the artist would another render Reveals his own bright spirit in radiant splendor. IN TIMES OF PEACE T WAS said : " When roll of drum and battle s roar Shall cease upon the earth, O, then no more " The deed, the race, of heroes in the land." But scarce that word was breathed when one small hand Lifted victorious o er a giant wrong That had its victims crushed through ages long; IMPROMPTUS 451 Some woman set her pale and quivering face, Firm as a rock, against a man s disgrace; A little child suffered in silence lest His savage pain should wound a mother s breast; Some quiet scholar flung his gauntlet down And risked, in Truth s great name, the synod s frown ; A civic hero, in the calm realm of laws, Did that which suddenly drew a world s applause; And one to the pest his lithe young body gave That he a thousand thousand lives might save. IMPROMPTUS EDWARD EVERETT HALE PATRIOT, and sage, and lover of his kind The love he gives a thousandfold returns: His is the wealth of love a great heart earns By giving all that heart and soul and mind. BARDS OF BRITAIN (lQo8) THE poets silent and the poets fled? Not till these two that pluck the lyre are dead! He of the patriot heart and Milton s line, With soaring song and melody divine; And he who makes the old days breathe again, Yet sings the hour that is, and hearts of living men. CALVE SWEETNESS and strength, high tragedy and mirth; And but one Calve on the singing earth ! 45 2 IN HELENA S GARDEN IN A CONCERT ROOM Two streams of music beat upon my heart That which now is; that which was silent long: Sacred this temple of a deathless art, Whose very walls thrill with remembered song. THE LONESOME WILD LOVELIER, lovelier this place Since here she brought her maiden grace; Dearer far this lonesome wild Since here she wandered, here she smiled. NEW FRIENDS AND OLD How wonderful and sweet New friends, as if forever known, to greet! The warm, new, kindred touch; the dear surprise To find an answer in new dawning eyes. But when old friends draw nearer dearer, dearer! SHADOW AND SUN 1 LOOKED from the window with hungry eyes On the day long longed for, that must be bright : (That day of days, of the long, long night !) When, O dear Shadow! by thy divining I knew that the morn was bright: I knew by the shadow the sun was shining. A NAVAL SURGEON OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION HERE was as loyal soul as ever drew The breath of battle, and the air of home: He duty followed, lonely and far to roam; To country, kindred, God, forever true. SONG 453 A MOTHER S PICTURE SWEET dignity and tenderness and grace, Devotion, and the power to draw the heart: This her inheritance, her dower, her art; All these are radiant in that mother face. ON A YOUNG HERO Too soon ? But heroes always die too soon ! This, this it is that makes them dear and great. Grant us, O kindly Heaven, the supreme boon To give our lives too soon not die too late ! A HERO S BRIDE WHAT tragic loss! but, O, what gain sublime, What golden memory, life-enduring pride. What shall it matter, brief or long the time ? Love of a noble soul a hero s bride. TO ONE WHO PRAISED "THE GAY LIFE" GAY ! as the hot crater s crust all lightning-lit But one tread more, and horror of the pit ! Gay! Yes, for a moment, and then weeping sorrow, With wild remorse to meet the dawning morrow. LYRIC LIVES THERE are more poets than the rhyming race; Souls beautiful of thought, and full of grace; The spirit of poetry in them breathes and thrives; They write not poems, but lead lyric lives. SONG A LITTLE longer still in summer suns, On wintry nights, and where the wild brook runs, To rest or wander; 454 IN HELENA S GARDEN A little longer left for human joy; To win and lose, man s masterful employ, To dream and ponder. A little longer! But, O, sweeter this Than any lesser grace or lowlier bliss In earth s wide blindness: A little longer left for lifting hearts, Healing hurt souls, for earth s most heavenly arts For love and kindness. THE SINGING RIVER i I read the poet s verses by the stream Where late with him I walked; the twilight gleam Faded, the page darkened, and from the sky The day, withdrawing gradual, came to die Slowly, into a memory and a sigh. n There as I read, the poet s lyric dream Mixt with the silvery clamor of the stream, And, tho the night fell, and I read no more, Still on and on the mingled measures pour: " Beauty is one," they murmur o er and o er. THE SOLACE OF THE SKIES WHEN fell the first great sorrow of my life, He dying from whom my mortal frame was drawn, Into the night I fled, long ere the dawn, Succor to bring for her, the stricken wife. THE WINDING PATH 455 Then first I knew the solace of the skies, And that mysterious mingling of the soul With the still beauty of the infinite whole; My heart was melted, and grew strangely wise. I was a child then, having little lore Taken from books, or the wide world of men, But something suddenly through my soul did pour Beyond all thought, all dream, all hope; since then Nor Death, nor Life, has been the same to me: Can grief the spirit kill, once touched by deity? THE WINDING PATH THE winding path Come let us follow Along the lane And down by the hollow; For I would fain The way it passes, Through the long grasses, The meadows, the woods, Seek and learn it: What the moods, What true uses Lead and turn it, What abuses Break it, cloak it, Twist it, choke it. Now t is a span; But onward still, Over the hill It wider grows, It firmer flows. The subtle path 456 IN HELENA S GARDEN Its own thought hath; It is more wise Than you or I; As if with eyes That peer and try, It feels its way Across the day. What little feet Hard have packed it! What great hoofs Gouged and wracked it! Rude water-courses Cut across it, Rocks emboss it; A lichened cliff Its route enforces. Yet on it goes, And upward flows Through the dark pines In wayward lines; Past the birches Skyward it lurches: One more flight And on the hight At last we stand, And catch the vision Of sky and land. "WHAT MAKES THE GARDEN GROW" WHAT makes the garden grow In beauty and delight A place to linger in by day or night, But chiefly when the long and level light IF, ONE GREAT DAY 457 Makes shadows that still glow With burning blossoms the heart s home Wherefrom our charmed feet reluctant roam. Not pride, nor envy, nor crude wealth Can bring the drooping roses health, Nor lift the sanguine poppies, row on row, Nor from their bed of green Make every iris spread it like a queen; While all along the wall The jeweled colors call. O, not from these can come the art That touches the deep heart, That makes the small blades shove Through the soft earth into a pictured balm above: Not sordid thoughts and low Can make the garden grow In beauty and delight, A place to linger in by day or night Not these, not these, but love. "IF, ONE GREAT DAY" IF, one great day, the God I see Aflame in blade and bush and tree, In the white dawn and passing sun Shall I not joy in that clear sight And tell in song my strange delight, Tho come a day when mist and cloud Shall the celestial presence shroud? O, shall I not be bold, And cry, "Behold!" Tho swift the vision darkens and is done? 458 IN HELENA S GARDEN MUSIC BENEATH THE STARS Music beneath the Stars! remembering him Who music loved, and who on- such a night Had, through white paths celestial, winged his flight, Hearing the chanting of the cherubim Which even our ears seem now to apprehend, Rising and falling in waves of splendid sound That bear our grieving spirits from the ground And with eternal things lift them and blend. Now Bach s great Aria charms the starlit dark; Now soars the Largo, high angelical, Soothing all mortal sorrow on that breath; And now, O sweet and sovereign strain! now hark Of mighty Beethoven the rise and fall. Such music neath the stars abolished death. THE BIRDS OF WESTLAND PRINCETON, JUNE, 1908 O BIRDS of Westland, singing on As blithely as of yore ! Do ye not know how deep he sleeps Behind yon closed door? Do ye not know that he who hailed Your music, dawn by dawn, Hath, since he barkened yesterday, From hearing been withdrawn? O happy birds! I think ye know He loved your joyful song, And therefore in the growing light Ye carol loud and long. THE VEIL OF STARS 459 O birds! ye know he would not wish To hush that singing sweet, Tho since he heard your music last That great heart ceased to beat. THE VEIL OF STARS O VEIL of stars ! O dread magnificence ! Not unto man, O, not to man is given The power to grasp with human sight and sense Him, clothed upon by all the stars of heaven And thou, O infinite littleness! not more Doth infinite distance and immensity That Presence veil, whom fain we would adore, If mortals might the immortal dimly see. Atoms and stars alike the Eternal hide, Nor know we if in light or darkness dwells The Ever Living ! No voice from out the wide Intense of starlight the great secret tells; No word or sign in earth or skies above, Save one the godhead in the eyes of love. INDEX OF FIRST LINES A barren stretch that slants to the salt sea s gray, 5. A century s summer breezes shook, 122. A little English earth and breathed air, 157. A little longer still in summer suns, 453. A little, loosened leaf of painted paper, 447. A maiden sought her love in a dark room, 88. A melancholy, life o er-wearied man, 335. A night of stars and dreams, of dreams and sleep, 24. A power there is that trembles through the earth, 256. A sense of pureness in the air, 314. A song for you, my darling, 277. A song of the maiden morn, 20. A soul inhuman? No, but human all, 164. A Sower went forth to sow, 27. A stranger in a far and ancient land, 250. A violet lay in the grass, 78. "A weary waste without her? * Ah, but think, 398. A white lie, even as the black, I learned to hate, 370. A woman, who has been a man s desire, 403. A wondrous song, 333. A word said in the dark, 87. After sorrow s night, 91. Agnostic! Ah, what idle name for him, 398. Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor! 223. Ah, loving, exquisite, enraptured soul, 393. Ah, near, dear friend of many and many years ! 328. Ah, no! that sacred land, 239. Ah, Time, go not so soon, 153. Alas, poor, fated, passionate, shivering thing! 278. All mouth, no mind: a mindless mouth in sooth, 303. All round the glimmering circuit of the isle, 274. All summer long the people knelt, 113. An old, blind poet, sitting sad and lone, 336. And can it be? 373. "And this, then, is thy love," I hear thee say, n. And were that best, Love, dreamless, endless sleep! 9. Angelo, thou art the master; for thou in thy art, 249. As doth the bird, on outstretched pinions, dare, 175. As down the city street, 145. As I hobble, old and halt, 345. As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side, 29. As soars the eagle, intimate of light, 266. As the long day of cloud and storm and sun, 64. At the dim end of day, 328. 462 INDEX OF FIRST LINES "Back from the darkness to the light again!" 94. Back to my body came I in the gray of the dawning, 266. Back to the old place I ve come home again, 412. Battling, through trackless lands, gainst savage foes, 341. Because Heaven s cost is Hell, and perfect joy, 52. Because the rose must fade, 231. Before the listening world behold him stand, 33. Behold our first great warrior of the sea, 391. Behold these maidens in a row, 156. Beneath a stone wrenched from Egyptian sands, 421. Beneath the deep and solemn midnight sky, 63. Beyond all beauty is the unknown grace, 78. Beyond the branches of the pine, 64. Brother of sorrow and mortality! 69. But, friend of mine, and his, I am afraid! 308. But then the sunset smiled, 90. But yesterday a world of haze, 327. By this road have past, 258. By this stairway narrow, steep, 212. Call him not blind, 278. Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone, 66. Came to a master of song, 225. Cast into the pit, 175. Caught in the golden net of the poet s song, 444. Chide not the poet that he strives for beauty, 377. Come, soldiers, arouse ye! 116. Come, Spirit of Song! true, faithful friend of mine! HZ. Come to me ye who suffer, for to all, 8. Comrades, the circle narrows, heads grow white, 193. Dark Southern girl! the dream-like day is past, 347. Dear bard and prophet, that thy rest is deep, 392. Dear friend, who lovedst well this pleasant life 67. Dear heart, I would that after many days, 35. Death is a sorry plight, 224. Deep in the ocean of night, 148. Despise not thou thy father s ancient creed, 54. "Do you love me?" Elsie asked, 222. Done is the day of care, 217. Down in the meadow and up on the hight, 221. Each moment holy is, for out from God, 66. Each New Year is a leaf of our love s rose, 228. Each of us answers to a call, 125. Each picture was a painted memory, 260. Edmund, in this book you ll find, 138. Enchanted city, O farewell, farewell ! 348. Enraptured memory, and all ye powers of being, 202. Erewhile I sang the praise of them whose lustrous names, 161, INDEX OF FIRST LINES 463 Even when joy is near, 265. Ever when slept the poet his dreams were music, 399. Face once the thought: This piled up sky of cloud, 174. Fades the rose; the year grows old, 232. Fame is an honest thing, 209. Fixt in one desire, 267. Fly, thistle-down, fly, 21. Following the sun, westward the march of power! 125. Four-walled is my tower, 280. Friend, why goest thou forth, 106. Friends, beware! 334. From every motion, every lovely line, 420. From love to love she passes on this day, 420. From the happy first time, 346. From the shade of the elms that murmured above thy birth, 205. Gay! as the hot crater s crust all lightning-lit, 453. Gentle and generous, brave-hearted, kind, 310. Give me a theme," the little poet cried, 126. Give thy day to Duty, 350. Glorious that ancient art! 212. Glory and honor and fame and everlasting laudation, 160. God of the strong, God of the weak, 356. Grace, majesty, and the calm bliss of life, 145. Great God, to whom since time began, 57. Great nature is an army gay, 170. Great Universe what dost thou with thy dead! 68. Greece was; Greece is no more, 201. He fails who climbs to power and place, 163. He is gone! We shall not see again, 139. He knows not the path of duty, 37. He of the ocean is, its thunderous waves, 210. He pondered well, looked in his heart, 337. He sang the rose, he praised its fragrant breath, 335. He speaks not well who doth his time deplore, 270. He the great World-Musician at whose stroke, 49. He who hath the sacred fire, 367. Henceforth before these feet, 227. Her delicate form, her night of hair, 345. Her voice was like the song of birds, 218. Here, by the great waters, 315. Here for the world to see men brought their fairest, 204. Here rests the heart whose throbbing shook the earth! 298. Here stays the house, here stay the selfsame places, 100. Here was as loyal soul as ever drew, 452. His life was generous as his life was long, 347. His was the love of art and song, 300. Home of my forebears, home of my dreaming childhood, 409. How curves the little river, through Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder, 417. 464 INDEX OF FIRST LINES How easily my neighbor chants his creed, 180. How strange the musician s memory, never wrong, 390. How strange to look upon the life beyond, 230. How to the singer comes the song? 253. How wonderful and sweet, 452. I am a woman therefore I may not, 98. I am the spirit of the morning sea, 73. I asked me: what in all the world so odd, 421. I asked you to read my poem, so shameless was I, 420. I awoke in the morning not knowing, 445. I called you once to the sea, 325. I came to a great city. Palaces, 298. I care not if the skies are white, 147. I count my time by times that I meet thee, 32. I dreamed a rose; it bloomed, 440. I dreamed a tender and mysterious dream, 419. I flung a stone into a grassy field, 94. I give this token to the son of him, 349. I heard the bells of Bethlehem ring, 243. I knew the Rucellai had choice of villas, 295. I know a girl she is a poet s daughter, 123. "I know," he said, no. I know not if I love her overmuch, 4. I know thou art not that brown mountain-side, 22. I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays, 4. I like your book, my boy, 133. I looked from the window with hungry eyes, 452. I love her gentle forehead, 19. I met a traveler on the road, 7. I pray thee, dear, think not alone of me, 23. I read that, in his sleep, the poet died, 332. I read the poet s verses by the stream, 454. I remember, 307. I sat in the crowded theater. The first notes, 120. I saw not the leaf, 223. I see it all; my soul the dregs hath drunk, 369. I thought I knew the mountain s every mood, 150. I thought in Egypt, Death was more than Life, 299. I thought in Syria, Life was more than Death, 300. I thought this day to bring to thee, 24. I will be brave for thee, dear heart; for thee, 14. I would that in the verse she loved some word, 140. I would that my words were as my fingers, 20. If ever flashed upon this mortal scene, 215. If Jesus Christ is a man, 53. If, lest thy heart betray thee, 305. If, one great day, the God I see 457. If songs were perfume, color, wild desire, 210. If you wish, go be a pig, 421. In a far, lonely land at last I came, 401. INDEX OF FIRST LINES 465 In a little theater, in the Jewry of the New World, 406. In a night of midsummer, on the still eastern shore, 390. In a starry night of June, before the moon had come, 286. In darkness of the visionary night, 55. In Heaven s happy bowers, 96. In her young eyes the children looked and found, 153. In life s hard fight this poet did his part, 333. In Love of City here we take our stand, 349. In one rich drop of blood, ah, what a sea, 273. In that dread, dreamed-of hour, 233. In the child-garden buds and blows, 216. In the cities no longer the blaring of trumpets that summon to battle, 404. In the embers shining bright, 93. In the hall of the king the loud mocking of many at one, 45. In the House of State at Albany, 402. In the long studio from whose towering walls, no. In the morning of the skies, 132. In the old farm-house living-room, 285. In the white midday s full, imperious show, 185. In thine anger it was said, 401. In this high ode with its great shadow-kings, 344. In this valley far and lonely, 255. In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold, 357. In Wordsworth s orchard, one sweet summer day, 293. In youth he braved a monarch s ire, 392. Into this musing, Memory! thou hast brought, 306. Is Hope a phantom ? Holds the crystal cup, 305. Is t I for whom the law s brute penalty, 172. Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou, 167. It was but yesterday she walked these streets, 394. John Carman of Carmeltown, 103. Keep pure thy soul! 229. Land of the South, whose stricken heart and brow, 114. Laureate of the Gentle Heart! 309. Let fall the ruin propt by Europe s hands! 246. Let not thy listening spirit be abashed, 378. Let other gray-beards mourn the flight of years, 420. Life came to me and spoke, 151. Life is the cost, 171. Life is the hammer that strikes, 344. Lightnings and tremblings and a voice of thunder, 389. Like the bright picture ere the lamp is lit, 254. Lisa Romana! no mean city gave, 309. Lo! here another, 263. Lo, now it comes once more; lo, my heart leaps again, 317. Lonely Pope upon his throne, 296. "Lost leaders" no, they are not lost, 397. Love is not bond to any man, 37. 466 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Love, Love, my love, 30. Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee, 14. Lovelier, lovelier this place, 452. Love s look finds loveliness in all the woild, 254. Many the names, the souls, the faces dear, 310. Many the songs of power the poet wrought, 129. Maria mia! all in white, 418. Me mystic? Have your way! 257. Men grow old before their time, 137. Midway the valley, fronting the flusht morn, 437. Mother and Child! There is no holier sight, 330. Mother of heroes, she of them who gave, 331. Mountains and valleys! dear ye are to me, 259. Mountains in whose vast shadows live great names, 391. Mourn for his death, but for his life rejoice, 332. Music beneath the Stars! remembering him, 458. My chimney is builded, 82. My love for thee doth march like armed men, 12. My love grew with the growing night, 23. My songs are all of thee, what tho I sing, 35. Myriads of souls from out the unknown vast, 448. Navies nor armies can exalt the state, 164. Nine years to heaven had flown, 93. No bugle on the blast, 207. No heavenly maid we here behold, 52. "No, no," she said, 262. No song-bird, singing, soaring, 285. No verses I can bring her, 345. Not alone in pain and gloom, 174. Not from the whole wide world I chose thee, 31. Not here, but somewhere, so men say, 262. Not his to guide the ship while tempests blow, 118. Not ignoble are the days of, 315. Not wreaths alone, for him who wins the fight, 349. Not yet the orchard lifted, 75. November winds, blow mild, 92. Now is the city great! That deep-voiced bell, 269. Now who can take from us what we have known, 62. Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, 141. O birds of Westland, singing on, 458. O, dear is the song of the pine, 220. O ease my heart, sad song, O ease my heart! 213. O, father s gone to market-town, he was up before the day, 76. O gates of ice! long have ye held our loved ones, 107. O, give me music in the twilight hour! 384. O glorious Sabbath sun, thou art, 307. O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul! 36. O, how shall I help to right the world that is going wrong! 112. INDEX OF FIRST LINES 467 O kindred stars, wherethrough his soul in flight, 424. O, love is not a summer mood, 36. O majesty and loveliness in one! 297. O man of light and lore! 177. O man with your rule and measure, 131. O mighty river, triumphing to the sea, 34. O purer far than ever I, 445. O strange Spring days, when from the shivering ground, 32. O sweet wild roses that bud and blow, 22. O, that was the year the last of those before thee, 235. O thou my Love, love first my lonely soul ! 15. O thou whom Virgil and thy Beatrice, 281. O veil of stars ! O dread magnificence ! 459. O white and midnight sky! O starry bath! 41. O, whither has she fled from out the dawning and the day? 440. Of a dream I would sing and a river I saw in a dream, 437. Of all earth s shrines this is the mightiest, 247. Of his dear Lord he painted all the life, 297. Of life, of death the mystery and woe, 145. Of my fair lady s lovers there were two, 87. Of other men I know no jealousy, 16. On that old faith I will take hold once more, 369. On the day that Christ ascended, 242. On the sad winter trees, 232. On the sun-dial in the garden, 434. On the wild rose tree, 77. On this day Browning died? 158. On this great day a child of time and fate, 341. Once, looking from a window on a land, 58. Once only, Love, may love s sweet song be sung, 17. Once wandering far in Asia, lo, we came, 340. Once when a maiden maidenly went by, 31. Once when we walked within a summer field, 18. One by one the flowers of the garden, 436. One day the poet s harp lay on the ground, 43. One deed may mar a life, 230. One rose of song, 396. One Sabbath eve, betwixt green Avon s banks, 292. One singer in the oratorio, 387. One who this valley passionately loved, 323. Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo, 154. Passion is a wayward child, 155. Patriot, and sage, and lover of his kind, 451- "Pity the blind!" Yes, pity those, 400. Queens have there been of many a fair domain, 280. Quietly, like a child, 158. Rejoice! Rejoice! 388. Relentless Time, that gives both harsh and kind, 374. 468 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Rhymes and writers of our day, 293. Rich is the music of sweet instruments, 387. Rock s the song-soil, truly, 215. Rose of the world, 189. Rose-dark the solemn sunset, 234. Said the Poet unto the Seer, 41. Shade of our greatest, O look down to-day! 163. She lives in light, not shadow, 278. She saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, 114. Silent, silent are the unreturning ! 235. Since ancient Time began, 208. Sir Knight, thou lovest not, 305. Slowly to the day the rose, 361. So fair, so pure my lady as she doth go, 134. So fierce the buffets of untimely fate, 339. Some element from nature seems withdrawn, 351. Some from books resound their rhymes, 226. Something missing from the garden ? 434. Something there is in Death not all unkind, 136. Souls live for whom the illimitable sands, 299. Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it, 174. Speed, speed, speed, 261. Star-dust and vaporous light, 244. Stay as the tree go as the wind, 307. Straight soars to heaven the white magnificence, 342. Strolling toward Shottery on one showery day, 291. Such pictures of the heavens were never seen, 368. Summer s rain and winter s snow, 33. Sweet dignity and tenderness and grace, 453. Sweet Grecian girl who on the sunbright wall, 156. Sweet mouth, dark eyes, deep heart, 149. Sweet rose that bloomed on the red field of war, 125. Sweetness and strength, high tragedy and mirth, 451. Tell me what is this innumerable throng, 49. Tell you the news, 288. That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise, 30. The Angel of Life stood forth on the threshold of Birth, 379. The birds were singing, the skies were gay, 21. The bright sun has been hid so long, 291. The cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight, II. The clouds upon the mountains rest, 327. The critic scanned the poet s book, 344. The day began as other days begin, 380. The days were cold, and clouded. On a day, 199. The evening star trembles and hides from him, 67. The garden still is green, 436. The gray walls of the garden, 431. The leaves are dark and large, Love, 154. The man of brains, of fair repute, and birth, 303. INDEX OF FIRST LINES 469 The marble pool, like the great sea, hath moods, 432. The mountain that the morn doth kiss, 60. The night was black and drear, 99. The night was dark, tho sometimes a faint star, 3. The North Star draws the hero; he abides, 268. The pallid watcher of the eastern skies, 12. The poet died last night, 136. The poet from his own sorrow, 169. The poet s day is different from another, 253. The poets silent and the poets fled? 451. The purple of the summer fields, the dark, 150. The secret he has learned it, 380. The sky is dark, and dark the bay below, 92. The smile of her I love is like the dawn, 25. The speech that day doth utter, and the night, 61. The spirit of adventure is, 316. The sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam, 6. The White Czar s people cry, 164. The wind from out the west is blowing, 89. The winding path, 455. The window s white, the candle s red, 149. The winds of morning move and sing, 89. The years are angels that bring down from Heaven, 153. There are four sisters known to mortals well, 120. There are more poets than the rhyming race, 453. There at the chasm s edge behold her lean, 215. There is nothing new under the sun, 10. There was a field green and fragrant with grass, 7. These are the sounds that I heard at the home in "The Pines," 348. They said, "God made him," ah, the clean, great God! 400. They said that all the troubadours had flown, 135. They who love the poets, 421. This actor in great Shakespeare s shadow moved, 394. This bronze doth keep the very form and mold, 117. This day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken, 275. This day I heard such music that I thought, 128. This day I read in the sad scholar s page, 269. This hour my heart went forth, as in old days, 264. This is an island of the golden Past, 245. This is her picture painted ere mine eyes, 6. This is my creed, 168. This is not Death, nor Sorrow, nor sad Hope, 209. This is the earth he walked on; not alone, 53. This is the end of the town that I love the best, 219. This is the eternal mystery of art, 388. This is the flower of thought, 124. This is the house she was born in, full four-score years ago, 101. This man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love, 310. This night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of Beethoven, 330. This night, when I blew out my candle flame, 419. This timeless river oldest of all time, 340. 470 INDEX OF FIRST LINES This watery vague how vast! This misty globe, 219. Tho summer days are all too fleet, 260. Thou art not fit to die ? Why not ? 173. Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird s song, 17. Thou Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised! 245. Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look. 54. Thou thinkest thou hast lived, 338. Thou who lov st and art forsaken, 106. Thou who wouldst serve thy country and thy kind, 400. Three blossoms in a happy garden grow, 435. Three messengers to me from heaven came, 61. Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word, 346. Through all the cunning ages, 272. Through love to light! O, wonderful the way, 38. Through starry space two angels dreamed their flight, 224. Through the garden sunset-window, 431. Thunder in the north sky, 148. Thus did he speak, thus was he comforted, 336. Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way, 16. Thy mind is like a crystal brook, 229. *T is night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs, 59. *T is twelve o the clock, 146. To-day I saw the picture of a man, 5. To-night the music doth a burden bear, 150. To rest from weary work one day of seven, 55. To see the rose of morning slow unfold, 229. To send fit thanks, I would I had the art, 350. To the ancient races of, 318. To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise! 374. Too much of praise for the quick, pitiless blow! 271. Too soon? But heroes always die too soon! 453. Touch not with dark regret his perfect fame, 135. True love to liberty is never foe, 372. *T was in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, ill. *T was said : When roll of drum and battle s roar, 450. *T was Sunday evening as I wandered down, 140. Two heroes do the world s insistent work, 339. Two men on thrones, or crouched behind, 301. Two streams of music beat upon my heart, 452. Two travelers met upon a plain, 26. Ungenerous! 353. Was ever music lovelier than to-night ? 386. Watchman! What seest thou in the New Dawn ? 422. We are alike, and yet, O strange and sweet! 30. We have come nearer, friend! 439. We met upon the crowded way, 96. Wed, thou, with sweet and silent Death, 421. Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing, 346. What can love do for thee, Love ? 25. INDEX OF FIRST LINES 471 What do you know of me, my gentlest one! 338. What domes and pinnacles of mist and fire, 228. What is a sonnet ? T is the pearly shell, 134. What is her playing like? 118. What is her playing like? 119. What makes the garden grow, 456. What shall we name it, 311. What strange, fond trick is this mine eyes are playing! 261. What, then, is Life what Death? 181. What, then, shall make these songs of mine more real, 381. What think you of the Table Round, 433. What tragic loss! but, O, what gain sublime, 453. What would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart ? 13. What would I win thee to ? dear heart and true ! 13. When at life s last the stricken player lies, 212. When Christ cried: "It is done!" 176. When fell the first great sorrow of my life, 454. When fell, to-day, the word that she had gone, 331. When from this mortal scene, 207. When I am dead and buried, then, 80. When I was a child joyfully I ran, 375. When in the golden western summer skies, 69. "When in the morning you wake," 443. When in the starry gloom, 50. When late I heard the trembling cello play, 257. When late in summer the streams run yellow, 81. When love dawned on that world which is my mind, 62. When on that joyful sea, 19. When on thy bed of pain thou layest low, 157. When shall true love be love without alloy, 9. When some new thought of love in me is born, 18. When that great shade into the silence vast, 206. When the girls come, 441. When the great organs, answering each to each, 211. When the last doubt is doubted, 28. When the last movement fell, I thought: Ah, me! 388. When the true poet comes, how shall we know him ? 132. When the war fleet puts to sea, 446. When to sleep I must, 66. When with their country s anger, 273. Where led the bright and blameless plume, 302. While joy-bells are ringing, 279. While others hedged, or silent lay, 304. White, pillared neck; a brow to make men quake, 170. Who are the men that good men most despise ? 269. Who builds the state ? Not he whose power, 342. Winds to the silent morn, 234. Wise Rembrandt! thou couldst paint, and thou alone, 244. With wild surprise, 126. Within the second dolorous circle where, 26. 47 2 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Without intent, I find a book I ve writ, 381. Would the gods might give, 230. Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, 115. Years have flown since I knew thee first, 32. Yes, I have heard the nightingale, 233. Yes, tis a glorious sight, 218. Yesterday, when we were friends, 153. Your pretty book doth please me, 115. INDEX OF TITLES "A barren stretch that slants to the salt sea s gray," 5. "A weary waste without her," 399. Absent Lover, The, 150. Actor, The, 212. Adele aus der Ohe, 119. After Many Days, 35. "After sorrow s night," 91. After-Song: "Through love to light! O, wonderful the way," 38. After-Song: To Rosamond, 189. Age, and the Scorner, 345. "Ah, be not false," 223. "Ah, near, dear friend," 328. "Ah, Time, go not so soon," 153. Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. See To T. B. A., The Poet s Sleep, The Singing River. Alice Freeman Palmer, 331. All in One, 31. "And were that best," 9. "Angelo, thou art the master," 249. Answer, The, 224. Art, 125, 447. Art and Life, 41. "As doth the bird," 175. "As soars the eagle," 266. At Four Score, 101. At Garfield s Grave, 113. At Luther s Grave, 298. At Niagara, 215. At Night, 92. Austin Dobson, To, 309. Autumn at Four-Brooks Farm, 285. Autumn Dirge, An, 213. Autumn Meditation, An, 64. Autumn Trees, 327. Avarice, 400. "Back from the darkness to the light again," 94. Bards, 226. Bards of Britain, 451. "Because the rose must fade," 231. Beethoven, 298. Beethoven, Anger of, 330. Before Sunrise, 89. 474 INDEX OF TITLES "Beyond all beauty is the unknown grace," 78. "Beyond the branches of the pine," 64. Birds of Bethlehem, The, 243. Birds of Westland, The, 458. Birthday Song, A, 24. Blame, 401. Blameless Knight, The, 302. Blind Poet, A, 278. Body and Soul, 15. Bread upon the Waters, 335. Brothers, 155. Builders of the State, 342. Building of the Chimney, The, 82. C. H. Russell, To, 349. "Call me not dead," 66. Call to the Mountains, A, 325. Calve, 451. "Came to a master of song," 225. Carl Schurz, 392. CELESTIAL PASSION, THE, 39. Cello, The, 257. Charleston, 167. Charleston, Farewell to, 348. Child, A, 218. Child-Garden, The, 216. Christ, The Anger of, 242. Christ-Child, The, 217. Christmas Hymn, A, 49. Christmas Tree in the Nursery, The, 126. City, The, 112, 220. City Club, For the, 349. City of Light, The, 311. Cleveland, Grover. See The President, Failure and Success, The Birds of Westland. "Come to me ye who suffer," 8. Comfort of the Trees, The, 310. Compensation, 379. Condemned, The, 173. Congress: 1878, in. Conquered, 401. Contrasts, 148. Cost, 52. Cradle Song, 93. Credo, 180. Crowned Absurdities, 421. Dancers, The, 156. Dark Room, The, 88. Day in Tuscany, A, 295. "Day unto day uttereth speech," 61. INDEX OF TITLES 475 Dead Comrade, The, 116. Dead Poet, The, 300. Death of a Great Man, On the, 207. Dedicatory Inscriptions, 318. Demagogue, The, 303. Denial, 18. Departed Friend, To a, 67. Desecration, 136. Desert, The, 299. "Despise not thou," 54. Destiny, 369. Doubter, The, 245. Doubter s Soliloquy, The, 370. Drama, The, 120. Drinking Song, 106. E. C. S., To, 347. "Each moment holy is," 66. Early Autumn, 436. Easter, 50. Edward Everett Hale, 451. Egypt, 299. Eleonora Duse, 215. Elsie, 222. Emma Lazarus, 157. Emma Lazarus, To, 392. Essipoff, 118. "Even when joy is near," 265. Evening in Tyringham Valley, 228. "Evening Star, The," 67. "Fades the Rose," 232. Failure and Success, 163. Fame, 209. Fantasy of Chopin, A, 389. Fate, 94. Father and Child, 63. FIRE DIVINE, THE, 365. Fire Divine, The, 367. For a Fan, 125. For an Album, 122. For the City Club, 349. For the Espousals of Jeanne Roumanille, of Avignon, 279. For the Great Pylons of the Triumphal Causeway, 316. For the Propylaea, 315. For the Stadium, 315. Francesca and Paolo, 26. Francesca Mia, 345. Freed Spirit, The, 69. Friendship, 346. "From love to love," 420. 476 INDEX OF TITLES Garfield s Grave, At, 113. George MacDonald, 393. Gift, The, 151. "Give thy day to duty," 350. Glave, 269. Glen Gilder, 417. Good Man, The, 338. Grand Jury, Before the, 403. Grant, Burial of, 115. "Gray walls of the garden, The," 431. Great Citizen, The, 332. "Great nature is an army gay," 170. GREAT REMEMBRANCE, THE, 191. Great Remembrance, The, 193. "H. H.," 140. Handel s Largo, 211. Hast thou heard the Nightingale ? 233. Hawthorne in Berkshire, 259. "He knows not the path of duty," 37. "He pondered well," 337. "Her delicate form," 345. Hero of Peace, A, 207. Heroic Age, The, 270. Hero s Bride, A, 453. Hesitation, 5. Hewitt, Abram Stevens. See The Great Citizen. Hide not thy Heart, 168. Holy Land, 53. Home Acres, 324. Homestead, The, 100. Hour in a Studio, An, 260. How Death may make a Man, 224. "How strange the musician s memory," 390. "How to the singer comes the song? " 253. Hymn: "God of the strong, God of the weak," 356. Hymn: "Great God, to whom since time began," 57. Hymn: "To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise!" 374. "I asked you to read my poem," 420. "I care not if the skies are white," 147* "I count my time by times that I meet thee," 32. "I dreamed," 419. " I know not if I lore her overmuch," 4. "I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays," 4. "I will be brave for thee," 14. Identity, 373. "If, One Great Day," 457. HI Tidings, no. Illusion, 261. INDEX OF TITLES 477 Impromptus : A Hero s Bride, 453. A Mother s Picture, 453. A Naval Surgeon of the War for the Union, 452. A Theme, 126. A Warrior of Troy, 420. Age, and the Scorner, 345. Art, 125. Bards of Britain, 451. Calve", 451. Crowned Absurdities, 421. Edward Everett Hale, 451. Farewell to Charleston, 348. For a Fan, 125. For the City Club, 349. Francesca Mia, 345. Friendship, 346. "From love to love," 420. "Give thy day to duty," 350. "Her delicate form," 345. "I asked you to read my poem," 420. In a Concert Room, 452. "Life is the hammer," 344. Lyric Lives, 453. Music and Friendship, 346. Nazimova, 420. New Friends and Old, 452. "Not wreaths alone," 349. On a Young Hero, 453. Sacrilege, 421. Shadow and Sun, 452. "Tell me good-by," 347. The Christmas Tree in the Nursery, 126. "The critic scanned the poet s book," 344. The Lonesome Wild, 452. The Obelisk, 421. "The Pines," 348. To a Southern Girl, 125. To C. H. Russell, 349. To E. C. S., 347- To F. F. C., 124. To Jacob A. Riis, 346. To " Little Lady Margaret," 421. To One who praised " the gay life," 453. To T. B. A., 125. To the Hero of a Scientific Romance, 421. To William Watson, 344. Two Optimists, 350. In a Concert Room, 452. " In a night of midsummer," 390. IN HELENA S GARDEN, 429. 478 INDEX OF TITLES In Helena s Garden, 431. "In her young eyes," 153. IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS, 237. In Palestine, 239. In Praise of Portraiture, 448. "In that dread, dreamed-of hour," 233. "In the cities," 404. "!N THE HIGHTS," 321. "In the hights," 323. In the White Mountains, 391. In Times of Peace, 450. In Wordsworth s Orchard, 293. Inauguration Day, 341. Indirection, 223. Indoors, at Night, 149. Indoors in Early Spring, 285. Inscription for a Tower in Florence, 280. Inscription in Rome, An, 136. Inscriptions for the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo, 1901, 315. Interlude: "As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side," 29. Interlude: "The cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight," n. Interlude: "The sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam," 6. Invisible, The, 368. Irrevocable, 230. "Is hope a phantom?" 305. J. R. L., 164. Janet, 307. "Jocoseria," 137. John Carman, 103. John George Nicolay, 310. John Henry Boner, 333. John Malone, 397. John Paul Jones, 391. John Wesley, 357. Josephine Shaw Lowell, 394. Karnak, 247. Keats, 135. "Keep pure thy soul," 229. Kelp Rock, 215. L. R. S., To, 309. La Salle, 341. Lady to a Knight, A, 305. Lament, A., 107. Largess, 149. Last Flower of the Garden, The, 436. Late Summer, 260. Law, 372. Leo, 154. INDEX OF TITLES 479 Letter from the Farm, A., 288. Life, 68. "Life is the cost," 171. "Life is the hammer," 344. Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln, On the, 117. "Light lies on the farther hills, The," 327. "Like the bright picture," 254. Likeness in Unlikeness, 30. Lincoln, Abraham. See On the Life-Mask of, To the Spirt of, The Great Remembrance, Under the Stars, etc. Lion of Tyringham, The, 437. Listening to Music, 19. Lonesome Wild, The, 452. Longfellow s "Book of Sonnets," 140. Lost, 336. "Lost Leaders," 397. Love and Death, 62. Love, Art, and Time, 156. Love grown Bold, 6. "Love is not bond to any man," 37. "Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee," 14. Lover s Lord and Master, The, 23. Love s Cruelty, u. Love s Jealousy, 16. Love s Monotone, 17. Lowell, 205. Luther s Grave, At, 298. Lyric Lives, 453. LYRICS, 71. MacDowell, 388. Madonna of Fra Lippo Lippi, 52. Marble Pool, The, 432. Master-Poets, The, 49. Memorial Day, 114. Memory, 306. Memory of Rubinstein, A, 210. Meridian, 227. Michael Angelo s Aurora, 297. Michael Angelo s Slave, 145. Midsummer Meditation, A, 174. Midsummer Song, A, 76. Mirror, The, 30. Modern Rhymer, The, 141. Modjeska, 120. Monument by Saint-Gaudens, A, 209. Moonlight, 146. Morning, Noon, and Night, 60. Mors Triumphalis, 45. Mother and Child, 330. "Mother of heroes," 331. 480 INDEX OF TITLES Mother s Picture, A, 453. Motto for a Tree-Planting, 307. Music and Friendship, 346. Music and Words, 128. Music at Twilight, 384. Music beneath the Stars, 458. Music in Darkness, 328. Music in Moonlight, 386. Music in Solitude, 255. "My love for thee doth march Itee armed men," n. "My songs are all of thee," 35. Name, A, 310. Napoleon, 164. Naval Surgeon of the War for the Union, A, 452. Nazimova, 420. Net, The, 444. NEW DAY, THE, i. New Friends and Old, 452. New Poet, A, 334. New Politician, The, 304. New Soul, A, 229. New Troubadours, The, 135. New World, A, no. New Year, 228. Niagara, At, 215. "Night of stars and dreams, A," 24. Night Pasture, The, 286. Night Song, A, 154. "Nine years," 93. " No, no, she said," 262. Noel, 244. Non Sine Dolore, 181. North to the South, The, 114. "Not here," 262. "Not wreaths alone," 349. November Child, A, 92. "O glorious Sabbath sun," 307. "O, love is not a summer mood," 36. "O mighty river, triumphing to the sea," 34. "O sweet wild roses that bud and blow! " 22. Obelisk, The, 421. Obscuration, 419. Ode: "I am the spirit of the morning sea," 73. Ode: "In the white midday s full, imperious show," 185. Of Henry George, 269. Of One who neither Sees nor Hears, 278. Old Faith, The, 369. Old House, The, 409. Old Master, The, 297. INDEX OF TITLES 481 On a Certain Agnostic, 398. On a Portrait of Servetus, 54. On a Woman seen upon the Stage, 278. On a Young Hero, 453. On being asked for a Song, 308. On reading of a Poet s Death, 332. On the Bay, 219. On the Death of a Great Man, 207. On the Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln, 117. On the wild rose tree," 77. Once only," 17. Once when we walked within a summer field," 18. One Country One Sacrifice, 273. One deed may mar a life," 230. One rose of song," 396. Ottoman Empire, The, 246. Our Elder Poets, 139. Paderewski, 210. Parthenon by Moonlight, The, 245. Passing of Christ, The, 177. Passing of Joseph Jefferson, The, 351. "Pathetic Symphony, The," 388. "Pines, The," 348. Pity the Blind, 400. POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS, 283. Poet and his Master, The, 43. Poet s Fame, The, 129. Poet s Protest, The, 131. Poet s Question, A, 381. Poet s Secret, The, 380. Poet s Sleep, The, 399. Porto Fino, 123. Portrait of Servetus, On a, 54. "Power there is, A," 256. Prelude for "A Book of Music," 382. Prelude: "O white and midnight sky! O starry bath! " 41. Prelude: "The night was dark, tho sometimes a faint star," 3. President, The, 118. Prisoner s Thought, The, 172. Pro Patria, 161. Proof of Service, 400. Recognition, 55. Reform, 112. Remembrance of Beauty, 254. Resurrection, 266. Rhyme of Tyringham, A, 221. Riddle of Lovers, A, 87. River, The, 22. River Inn, The, 99. 4 82 INDEX OF TITLES Robert Gould Shaw, 267. Rosamond, To, 189. Rose of Dream, A, 440. "Rose-dark the solemn sunset," 234. Sacred Comedy in Florence, A, 296. Sacrilege, 421. Saint-Gaudens, Augustus. See A Monument by Saint-Gaudens, Robert Gould Shaw, Under the Stars, Music beneath the Stars. Sanctum Sanctorum, 150. Scorn, 269. Seasons, The, 32. Serenade, 148. Shadow and Sun, 452. "Shall we not praise the living?" 353. Shelley s "Ozymandias," 340. Sheridan, 158. Sherman, 160. Silence of Tennyson, The, 206. Singer of Joy, The, 335. * Singing River, The, 454. Sir Walter Scott, 293. "So fierce the buffets," 339. Solace of the Skies, The, 454. "Something missing from the garden," 434. Song: A little longer still in summer suns," 453. Song: I awoke in the morning not knowing," 445. Song: I love her gentle forehead," 18. Song: If, lest thy heart betray thee," 305. Song: Love, Love, my love," 30. Song: Maria Mia," 418. Song: My love grew," 23. Song: Not from the whole wide world," 31. Song: O purer far than ever I! " 445. Song: O whither has she fled from out the dawning and the day ? " 440. Song: The birds were singing," 21. Song: Years have flown," 32. Song for Dorothea, across the Sea, A, 277. Song of a Heathen, The, 53. Song of a Song, The, 443. Song of Early Autumn, 81. Song of Early Summer, A, 75. Song of Friendship, A, 439. "Song of the maiden morn, A," 20. Song of the Road, A, 261. Song s Answer, The, 257. Songs, 231. Sonnet, The, 134. Sonnet of Dante, A, 134. Soul, The, 61. Soul lost, and found, A, 263. INDEX OF TITLES 483 "Sow thou sorrow," 174. Sower, The, 27. "Spare me my dreams," 374. Spirit of Abraham Lincoln, To the, 163. Spring Surprise, 327. Stairway, The, 212. Star in the City, The, 145. Stratford Bells, 292. Stricken Player, The, 212. "Strolling toward Shottery," 291. Summer begins, 291. "Summer s rain and winter s snow," 33. Sun-Dial, The, 434. Sunset from the Train, 90. Sunset Window, The, 431. "Supper at Emmaus, The," 244. Sword of the Spirit, The, 271. Syria, 300. Table Round, The, 433. "Tell me good-by," 347. Temple of Art, A, 361. Temptation, 174. "The day began as other days begin," 380. "The north star draws the hero," 268. "The pallid watcher of the eastern skies," 12. "The poet from his own sorrow," 169. "The poet s day," 253. " The smile of her I love," 25. "The woods that bring the sunset near," 89. "The years are angels," 153. Theme, A, 126. "There is nothing new under the sun," 10. " There s no place like the old place," 41 2. "This hour my heart went forth, as in old days," 264. Thistle-Down, 21. "Thou thinkest thou hast lived," 338. Thought, A, 58. Three Flowers of the Garden, 435. "Through all the cunning ages," 272. "Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way," 16. "Thy mind is like a crystal brook," 229. To a Departed Friend, 67. To a Southern Girl, 125. To a Young Poet, 132. To an English Friend, 138. To Austin Dobson, 309. To C. H. Russell, 349. To E. C. S., 347. To Emma Lazarus, 392. To F. F. C., 124. 484 INDEX OF TITLES To Jacob A. Riis, 346. To L. R. S., 309. To "Little Lady Margaret," 421. To Marie Josephine Girard, Queen of the Felibres, 280. To One Impatient of Form in Art, 377. To One who praised "the gay life," 453. "To rest from weary work," 55. To T. B. A., 125. To the Hero of a Scientific Romance, 421. To the Poet, 378. To the Spirit of Abraham Lincoln, 163. To William Watson, 344. "To-night the music doth a burden bear," 150. Tool, The, 303. Tower cf Flame, The, 204. Tragedy of To-day, A, 406. Traveler, The, 7. Twelfth of December, The, 158. Twenty-third of April, The, 157. Two Heroes, 339. Two Optimists, 350. Two Valleys, 218. Two WORLDS AND OTHER POEMS, 143. Two Worlds, 145. Two Years, 235. * Under the Stars, 424. Undying Light, 69. Unknown, The, 230. Unknown Singer, The, 387. Unknown Way, The, 26. Unreturning, The, 235. /alley of Life, The, 375. /alley Road, The, 258. /anishing City, The, 202. /eil of Stars, The, 459. 7enus of Milo, The, 145. fiolet, The, 78. Violin, The, 33. Vision, A, 274. Visions, 175. Voice, The, 387. Voice of the Right, The, 437. Voice of the Pine, The, 59 Voyager, The, 106. Wagner, 388. War, 301. Warrior of Troy, A, 420. Washington at Trenton, 208. INDEX OF TITLES 485 Washington Monument, The, 342. Washington Square, 219. Watchman on the Tower, The, 422. "We met upon the crowded way," 96. Weal and Woe, 36. Week s Calendar, A, 228. "What can love do for thee, Love ?" 25. "What makes the garden grow," 456. "What man hath done," 336. "What would I save thee from?" 13. "What would I win thee to?" 13. "When love dawned," 62. "When the girls come to the old house," 441. "When the last doubt is doubted," 28. "When the true poet comes," 132. "When the war fleet puts to sea," 446. "When to sleep I must," 66. "When with their country s anger," 273. Where Spring began, 399. White and the Red Rose, The, 96. "White City, The," 201. White Czar s People, The, 164. "White, pillared neck," 170. Whisperers, The, 402. Winding Path, The, 455. "Winds to the silent morn," 234. Winter Twilight in Provence, A, 250. Wintry Heart, The, 232. With a Cross of Immortelles, 176. With a Volume of Dante, 281. Woman seen upon the Stage, On a, 278. Woman s Thought, A, 98. "Wondrous Song, A," 333. Word of the White Czar, The, 275. "Word said in the dark, A," 87. Words in Absence, 20. Words without Song, 7. World s End, The, 340. Written on a Fly-Leaf of "Shakespeare s Sonnets," 9. "Yesterday, when we were friends," 153. Young Poet, The, 80. Youth and Age, 133. (Cbc Ribrm&e prcsrf CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A GENERAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA BERKELEY RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 20iul 54sSjg REC D LD JL 27 64-8 W 8 1970 8 LU APK 273 PDia LD 21-100m-l, 54(1887sl6)476 For, 767s- I UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY